Inked
by Chirugal
Summary: Tattooed girls are dying, and Abby is the perfect bait to draw out the murderer... Gibbs/Abby, with a little Tony/Ziva thrown in. Now rated M, and complete!
1. The Tattoo Superbowl

**Title**: Inked  
**Rating**: PG-13  
**Warnings**: Abby in eventual peril!  
**Summary**: Tattooed girls are dying, and Abby is the perfect bait to draw out the murderer...

* * *

Another four a.m. wakeup call…

As I flick on my music, letting the soothing wail of Collide fill the lab, I stifle a yawn. Okay, maybe I need something a little more extreme. Where's my Plastic Death wake-up compilation?

Ahh, cacophonous screams. Much better! I'm still way too tired, though. Wish the evidence would get here. And Gibbs. Preferably with Caf-Pow!.

I wait a couple of songs, but with nothing to do I'm practically falling asleep. If I'd have known I'd be woken up after half an hour, I'd have gone to bed way earlier.

Another jaw-dislocating yawn forces me to get out of my chair and head for the elevator. If the work's not coming to me, I'll have to go to the work. Ducky and Palmer, here I come…

As the doors to the morgue hiss open, I realise that everyone's already here, standing around the freshly autopsied body. "Whoa. It's a party down here. Hey, everyone!"

Tony, McGee and Ziva all tell me hi. Gibbs doesn't even spare me a glance, which isn't unusual when he's hounding Ducky for answers.

"Cause of death: strangulation," Ducky concludes sombrely. "As were his other three victims."

Youch, a serial killer. This might take a while!

"Thanks, Duck," Gibbs answers, his eyes on the young woman laid out on the mortuary slab.

"Abigail, my dear. Blood and tissue samples, as promised." Ducky smiles at me, handing me evidence bags and a pen.

"Aww, Ducky, you give me all the best gifts." I press the chain-of-evidence voucher against Gibbs' back, signing my name with a flourish.

"Hey, Abby, you should check out these tattoos. They're very… you," Tony says, gesturing to the table.

"Ooh, where?" I know it's ghoulish, but tatts are the same whether someone's alive or dead. For the first time, I take a good look at the body. A trail of stars above the left breast, nicely detailed if a little clichéd. An elaborate, grinning skull on the upper right arm, a snarling panther with bat-wings crouched at her navel… oh, god, no. My eyes flick up to the dead girl's face, and my stomach turns over.

"Gibbs?" I whisper, forcing the words out. "I… I know this girl."

"You do?" McGee asks. I hardly hear him.

Hands grip my shoulders and pull me a little way back from the table, and Gibbs moves between me and the body, blocking my horrified gaze. I blink up at him as he speaks the name thundering through my mind. "Serena Matheson?"

I nod, stricken. "She's a friend of a friend. We've been out in the same group once or twice. We compared tattoos; that's why I remember her. Where… where was she found?"

"A club called Black Sunday," Ziva tells me.

Black Sunday? Then that means…? "No way. I thought Metro Police were handling that case?"

"They were," Gibbs says. "Until Seaman Serena Matheson turned up dead. They were falling over each other to turn over jurisdiction."

"Oh." On top of everything else, that's a fresh shocker. For Metro to turn over a case, they must really be out of leads. But this is the fourth dead girl in as many weeks. And there's gonna be a truckload of evidence for me to sift through… "Four crime scenes? I better get to work."

Gibbs nods, following me out of the morgue. The rest of the team stay with Ducky, guessing that the boss-man wants to speak to me alone. We step into the elevator, and as soon as the doors have closed Gibbs hits the emergency stop button. "You okay?"

Now the initial shock has worn off, I am. I'm sad for my friend Nina – she was close to Serena – but I only spoke to her a couple times in passing. I tell Gibbs, "Yeah. It was just unexpected. I'm fine."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Gibbs, it's like five in the morning. I don't wanna hash this out with you now! Time to play stupid. "I did."

He doesn't let up. Did I ever think he would? "Not about the girl. About the murders happening around a club you go to practically every weekend."

How does he know I go to Black Sunday so often? "It was outta your hands," I defend myself. "NCIS didn't have any jurisdictional rights, and I didn't actually know any of the victims, until tonight."

"Girls around you were getting murdered, girls who fit your general description, and you didn't think I needed to know? It could have been you lying on that slab down there!" His intense stare bores into me, and I shift uncomfortably.

"I just…" Oh, hell, just say it, Abby. "After what happened with Mikel, I didn't want to drag you into any more of my problems."

Gibbs pulls me into a hug. "If you keep something like this from me again, I _will_ fire you, Abby."

"No, you won't," I mumble into his shoulder with a wan smile. When he releases me, hitting the emergency stop switch again, I feel a little more at ease. "Thanks, Gibbs."

As the elevator arrives at the evidence garage, Gibbs squeezes my shoulder. "I'm gonna find who did this."

"I know you will." With a small wave, I head towards the evidence lockup to collect the samples from the three previous murders. It's gonna be a really long night. At least I'm not tired any more.

* * *

As another negative fingerprint match blinks up onscreen, I bite back a groan of frustration. Two solid days of testing and retesting evidence from all four crime scenes are starting to take their toll, and I'm no closer to finding a lead. Gibbs and his team don't seem to be having much luck either. All their tentative guesswork's come to nothing, and Gibbs visits me often to get away from DiNozzo and McGee's constant bickering.

Now, as I sigh and begin to gather up another batch of failed samples, the entire gang walk through the door.

"Any luck?" Ziva asks, sounding as if she already knows the answer.

"I got nothing. Sorry, guys."

"Nothing?" Tony asks, looking at the heaps of evidence bags piled on the workbench. "How can you have nothing when there's all this stuff here? You never have nothing."

"Yeah, well," I snap at him, "This time I do, Tony." Hmm, that doesn't sound right. "Don't. Do, don't, do?"

McGee takes a breath to clarify the situation, but Gibbs cuts him off. "Can you tell us anything at all, Abby?"

I shake my head, a little frustrated. "I've quadruple-checked everything. Nothing hinky or helpful as far as I can tell. Run everything by me again?"

"Four girls, dark-haired, Goth, tattooed," Tony starts.

"All killed having just been at the club, Black Sunday," McGee chips in.

"They did not know each other, and their tattoos were all done at different studios, so there are no links there," Ziva continues. "There do not appear to be motives amongst friends, colleagues or family."

"And no one seems to have a grudge against the owner of the club," Gibbs finishes.

No surprises there. Billy is a great guy, gets along with everyone. Hey, what about…? "How about the DJs? Black Sunday has a few. If the same DJ was playing the night of each murder…"

"Checked it," Tony says, shooting down my theory. "Four murders, four different DJs."

I sigh, burying yet another theory. "And there's no forensic evidence – which, by the way, I blame shows like CSI for. Before that show, nobody knew the first thing about forensics, but now everyone seems to be cleaning up after themselves. It's really irritatin–"

"Abby," Gibbs warns me gently.

"Okay. So. We have a boatload of evidence but nothing gives us any kind of clue who did this, or why. The tox screens all showed traces of GHB – it metabolises really quickly in living victims, but since they died before it got out of their systems, I managed to find it."

"That would tie in with my findings. There were no defensive wounds on any of the bodies. These poor girls clearly didn't have the strength to fight off their attacker," Ducky confirms.

"The only things that link the victims are tattoos and Black Sunday. We do not know any more than that," Ziva sums up.

For a few moments, everyone is silent, disheartened. Suddenly Tony snaps his fingers, brightening. "So we send in Ziva as bait. You must have tattoos, right, Ziva?"

She frowns at him, confused. "I have one on my ankle…" Pulling up her pants leg, she shows him the lizard arching over her anklebone. It's gorgeous, and I tell her so. "Why, thank you, Abby."

Tony examines the design for a moment longer, probably committing it to memory, before asking, "How does a bad-ass like you only have one tattoo?"

Without missing a beat, Ziva tells him, "Because it's stereotypical. I do not measure my effectiveness in combat by how I look."

Before Tony can pursue the subject, McGee hastily changes topic, no doubt remembering the hassle Tony gave Kate when she got her tatt. "We could use henna to give her a few more?"

"That won't work." All eyes turn to me as I take a deep breath. I don't wanna make this suggestion, but Nina's tear-streaked face has been etched into my memory for the past two days. I need this case to be over so I can start being there for my friend and not cooped up in my lab surrounded by negative results.

"Okay, Ducky, correct me if I'm wrong. I know I haven't studied much psychology, but these girls have been playing in the Tattoo Superbowl. They got noticed because their tatts were conspicuous. Our killer needs his victims to be inked, and more than just a little bit."

I glance at Gibbs; already I can read the refusal on his face. I plough on anyway. "Ziva's not gonna cut it. I'd be able to catch his attention, no problem. Let me go in there."

Ziva frowns. "Abby…"

"You're not an agent," Gibbs cuts in brusquely, his voice leaving no room for argument. I knew it was coming, and part of me is ecstatic that he wants to protect me, but at the same time I'm frustrated at him.

"Gibbs!" I protest. "D'you have a better plan?"

"I'm not risking you, Abbs. You don't have the experience or the training."

"But I have the tatts. This killer? He wants real ink. Tattoos hurt – that's part of the reason he gets off on this. He's a sadist. Right, Ducky?"

"Unfortunately, Abby is correct," Ducky says reluctantly. "However, I wouldn't recommend leaving her in harm's way."

"So send someone in with me," I say. "If I can stop him from killing any more girls, why wouldn't I take that chance? I'm the perfect bait, Gibbs. Now put me on your hook and let me wriggle."

There's a moment of silence as everyone processes that last statement. I can feel the beginnings of a blush warm my cheeks as I drop my gaze to the floor. "And that came out really wrong."

When I dare to look up, Tony is smirking, enjoying the imagery. Gibbs gives me a long, impassive stare, giving no sign that he's affected by my last words. I've almost given up hope that he'll relent when he gives an almost imperceptible nod, and I relax a little. "Thanks, Gibbs."

"Don't give me a reason to regret this," is all he says as he leaves the lab. He's not happy, but he's gonna have to live with it.

* * *

"What do you think?" Smiling to cover my anxiety, I twirl in the middle of the room, feeling five pairs of eyes follow me.

The top's a scarlet halter-neck, tying at my waist, leaving the majority of my back bare. The stick figures on my shoulders and the ornate cross tattoo on my back stand out in sharp relief against my pale skin. I really should ditch the parasol and get some sun every now and then – yeah, right.

The tiny skirt I'm wearing with it covers only the top third of my thighs, revealing the tattoo of a snake coiled around my left leg, fangs out in preparation to strike. I usually respect NCIS' dress code just enough to keep it covered, but not tonight. My hair's up, showing off my spiderweb to best advantage, and the tatts down my arms are easily visible as I move.

"Wow!" Tony whispers. McGee grins stupidly – I've seen _that_ look before – and Ziva nods appreciatively.

It's Gibbs' reaction I'm most worried about, though.

"You'll do," he tells me as his gaze sweeps down my body, his mouth turned up slightly in a smile. I tingle all over at his perusal, and shake my head, forcing the totally inappropriate thoughts I'm having way, way away.

Now I'm dressed, I look over at Tony and Ziva, who are gonna be my bodyguards for the night. I was a little sceptical at first, but it looks like they're gonna blend right in.

"Lookin' good, DiNozzo!" I compliment him, grinning. He's scrubbed up well in a black shirt and tight black jeans.

"Thanks," he deadpans, preening a little. "I try."

Ziva's wearing black cargo pants, chunky black boots and a dark green cami emblazoned with a blood-stained butterfly. I hand her one of my more conservative collars and she fastens it around her neck, taking care not to dislodge the tiny camera lodged within one of the studs. Yeah, I know, I have way too much free time on my hands sometimes.

"Will I do?" Ziva asks, tucking her firearm into the back of her pants and pulling the shirt down to obscure it.

"Totally," I reassure her, handing her an earwig and mic to complete her surveillance set. With these nifty babies, Gibbs and McGee will be able to see and hear everything we do.

Speaking of which… I tap a few commands out on my keyboard, pulling up the feeds from each of us in turn. First Ziva, who's looking at Tony. Now myself – a shot of my computer fills the screen. And now–

"Tony, quit looking at my ass," I tell him good-naturedly, rolling my eyes as I show up on-screen. Or rather, the bottom half of me does.

He sheepishly shrugs at me. "Sorry. In my defence, every guy in this room is looking at your ass right now." Gibbs thwacks the back of his head, and he winces. "'Cept you, Boss."

"Then, mission accomplished. Every guy in the club will be, too. And Gibbs, you weren't checking me out? I'm hurt!"

"McGee," Gibbs says, stifling a smile. "Bring up the feed in the van."

McGee nods, squeezing my shoulder on the way past. "Be careful, Abby."

Aww… "I will." I smile, hoping my nerves don't show, and he leaves.

"Abby." Gibbs' eyes on me send a shiver through my skin. "C'mere."

Leaving Tony and Ziva behind, I follow him into my office. He sits on the edge of my desk, and I stand in front of him, fidgeting, finally allowing my nerves to come to the fore.

"How're you feeling?" he asks, not wasting any time beating around the bush.

"Scared," I admit awkwardly. "But I need to do this."

"I know," he says, and in that moment I know he's thinking of Ari. "Abbs, I need you to promise me something."

Giddy with apprehension and the intensity of the attention he's giving me, I swallow a hysterical giggle. "Okay, okay, I'll marry you, but only if we get to go to Vegas to do it."

For a split-second, he just stares at me, his brain trying to make the jump from serious conversation to ridiculous babble. Then he pulls me into a hug, the walls he keeps around himself falling just enough for me to see the concern on his face. "Calm down. You're gonna be fine."

I let my eyes drift shut as his arms close around me. A moment too late, he realises how little I'm wearing, and that he's going to have to touch the bare flesh of my back – either that, or grab my ass. His hands are hesitant, lightly placed on the small of my back, at the base of my cross tatt. I force myself to breathe normally, hoping he won't notice the tiny ripple of pleasure that thrills through my skin, and snuggle closer – just to show him that the contact doesn't bother me.

"I'm calm," I mumble into his shirt. I'm not. I'm anything but calm right now, and not for the reason he thinks. Suddenly my role of bait doesn't seem as important or terrifying.

He releases me, and I step back, trying to get my thoughts on track. "Okay. What am I really promising you?"

"Make sure Tony and Ziva can see you at all times. If the guy makes contact and tries to get you to leave with him, do it, but walk slow. Don't get into a car with him unless you absolutely have to, and don't drink anything he offers unless you've seen the bartender pour it."

It's such unnecessary advice that I'm tempted to ask him whether I'm allowed to take candy from strangers, but I know he's just worried about me. "I promise."

"Uh… Boss?" Tony leans around the door. "Sorry to interrupt, but… we should probably get going."

Pissed off at being interrupted, Gibbs glowers at him. "Ziva. You're driving."

Patting Tony's cheek with a dazzling smile, Ziva heads for the door.

"I thought your intention was for Abby to live?" Tony complains. Gibbs only stares at him, and he sighs. "Shutting up, Boss."

"Don't let Abby out of your sight," Gibbs orders as we begin to make for the elevator. As I walk, I can feel Tony's appreciative gaze on my butt again, but after that hug from Gibbs, it barely even registers.

His voice follows us as the elevator doors slide shut. "And, DiNozzo? Keep your hands to your damn self."

* * *

**Thanks for reading! There will be more to this one - let me know any suggestions you might have!**


	2. Really Arrogant

**Author's Note: **Thank you all so much for the feedback. I really appreciate it - you guys are fantastic. -cookies for all- Not sure how well this turned out. Let me know if there's anything you think needs improvement.

I had Smurfette call Abby 'Vamp' as a shortened form of 'Vamperstein' which she says is her nickname - "But I never really liked the sound of it." And Smurfette doesn't like her nickname either. It's an annoying nickname war...

Oh, and Abby's 'favourite' song is _Everyday Everything_ by 16 Volt... it's fangirly, but it's one of MY favourite songs and I wanted it in there. Anyway, Abby would totally love 16 Volt.

* * *

"Okay, here we go…" The group ahead of us steps up to the front doors of the club, and a fresh bout of anxiety sets in.

"How loud is this gonna be, Abby?" McGee asks, though surely he already knows the answer.

I turn and smile wickedly into the camera around Ziva's throat. "It's my favourite club, McGee! How loud do you think?"

He sighs, the sound crystal clear through my earwig. I take a deep breath and step past Dave the bouncer into Black Sunday. As always, a wave of noise and heat hits me like a slap, and I feel the bassline pounding through my blood. I give a little excited bounce at the adrenaline overload, some of my nervousness abating. I'm in my natural habitat with two armed federal agents at my back – surely nothing can go wrong?

I look back at Ziva and Tony, who are gazing around them. Ziva's acclimatising fast, but it's gonna take Tony some time, I think.

"Are you still getting us?" I yell at Ziva, my words really directed at McGee.

Ziva smiles and nods, keeping up the pretence of conversation as McGee replies, "Keep talking. I'm neutralising the bass – as far as I can through this racket, anyway – and then I need to fine-tune."

Keep talking? I can do that. I've had six Caf-Pow!s today – I could give Ducky a run for his buck in the rambling stakes. "C'mon, I'll show you around!" I grab Tony's hand with one of mine, Ziva's with the other, and pull them forward through the milling throng of people. "This is the most mainstream room. Indie rock, modern rock and punk, stuff like that. It's a good warm-up before you head on to the other rooms."

"If you say so," Tony calls back. "Kinda reminds me of that scene from _The Matrix_."

McGee groans, and I punch the air victoriously. "_Yes!_ Pay up, McGee - you owe me fifty bucks!"

Ziva shakes her head. "This is Tony, and you bet _against_ him tying this in to that movie, McGee?"

"I thought it'd be too obvious," McGee grumbles. "Obviously, nothing falls into that category for Tony."

"Hey!" a disgruntled Tony cuts in. "Work now, piss me off later, McTurtleneck!"

McGee shuts up, mostly because I can practically hear Gibbs' warning stare. Amused, I pull them into the tunnel that connects to the next room. A flash of bright blue catches my eye. Is that…? "Hey, Smurfette!" I yell, catching my friend's arm.

Smurfette grins at me, swiping a lock of bright blue hair out of her eyes. "Hey, Vamp! 'S'up?"

I introduce her to Tony and Ziva. "They bet against me and lost, so I dragged them here."

"And we're thrilled," Tony chips in wryly.

I whack him on the arm. "You're no fun! Guys, this is Smurfette."

"Alex," she corrects, shaking each of their hands in turn. "Sorry I can't stay, I gotta meet Toby in Athena's."

Any other day, I'd be trying to cajole her into staying, but having friends around while you're trying to be bait is a little awkward. "Sure, catch you later." I give her a quick hug, and she continues on her way.

"You have interesting friends, Abby," Ziva says, watching her go.

"I know, isn't it great? McGee, how's the feed?"

"Loud and clear," McGee confirms. "We're good to go."

I beckon Tony and Ziva through to the oldies room, and we take a detour to the bar to pick up drinks. "Hey, Gibbs, you remember any of this music?" I ask Tony curiously. "Alice Cooper, Metallica, Led Zep?"

The boss-man's been quiet so far, but as he answers me the sound of his voice right in my ear affects me in ways McGee's never has. "Vaguely."

Hmm. I gotta ask him about that later! "I knew it! You were a closet rocker in your misspent youth, weren't you?"

"Will it make you happy if I lie?" he drawls, and I can imagine his amused, tolerant expression as if he's standing next to me.

"Ecstatic!"

"Then, yeah. I know exactly what you're talking about."

As I giggle, Tony hands me a drink – a little vodka with a lot of Red Bull, if I know my drinks – and I take a sip. "Okay, guys, let's move on!"

"We're not good here?" Tony asks.

"No way!" I yell, dragging him forward. "The last room is my favourite! They play The Newlydeads and Android Lust and Nine Inch Nails…" I don't need to look back to know that he and Ziva are exchanging despairing glances. "It was Serena's favourite room, too."

We plunge into the mass of dancing people, dodging a few overzealous air-guitar players to take up positions against the wall. "How come your favourite room also has to be the loudest?!" Tony complains.

"Are you still getting us, McGee?" I call back to him.

I can barely hear McGee's answer, the music's so loud. "I need to recalibrate. The bass in there's off the charts. Shouldn't be a sec."

I bounce up and down impatiently, laying down my drink. "I'm not gonna get noticed standing against a wall, you guys. Come and dance!"

Ziva takes a long swallow of her screwdriver and sets it down beside mine. "Come on, Tony. Don't you want to dance with me?"

We abandon the drinks, though it means we're gonna have to get fresh ones later. A group of barely-legal emo kids vacate one of the raised platforms dotted around the room, and I grin. "The perfect place to get attention."

Ziva hops up, her sensible flat boots making the task easy, and pulls me after her, steadying me as I teeter on my heels. Tony follows, and I position myself in the most visible spot as a new song begins; the lurch of anxiety in my stomach is dampened a little by my excitement. _Everyday Everything_ is my _favourite_ song! Yeah, I say that about all the songs, but y'know.

Ziva is the first to fall into rhythm with me, stepping up behind me and grabbing my hips. We sway together, and soon I feel Tony join us, a little out of synch at first but eventually able to pick the beat out from the crashing drums and wailing guitars.

For a while, I can pretend I'm just on a normal night out with some friends. We dance a few songs, have a few drinks – mostly non-alcoholic – and generally have fun. Gibbs and McGee go radio silent, not wanting to risk our killer being able to read lips while I'm so easily noticeable.

The way Ziva moves, you'd think she's been coming to these clubs all her life – her rhythm is perfect. And slowly, Tony's attention is moving from my barely-covered body to her much more modestly-attired one. Amused, I step back a little, watching them move together. She gazes up at him, shimmying seductively, and he doesn't seem to be able to take his eyes off her…

Gibbs barks, "DiNozzo!", causing both Tony and Ziva to jump guiltily; at the same time, a hand brushes my knee…

Gasping, reminded of the reason we're here, I spin and stare down at the person trying to get my attention. "Geez, Danny! You scared the hell outta me!"

My friend grins, unapologetic, and vaults up onto the platform beside me. "Lookin' good, Sciuto!" he teases. "Wanna dance?"

I give him a greeting-hug that's half happy to see him, half relieved it's not someone else. "Hello, this is me we're talking about… Of course I do!"

His arms go around me, and we sway, matching each other movement for movement. We've danced together so many times that I barely even need to think about it, just letting the music wash over me and dimly wondering what the others are thinking of the show. I hope Gibbs is jealous; I know he's probably not.

Ziva and Tony keep a camera trained on me at all times. I wave them over after a couple of minutes and introduce them to Danny, who shakes their hands and then excuses himself. I watch him go, glad I don't have to think of an excuse to get rid of him.

"You know him well, Abby?" Gibbs asks. I already know the way his mind's working.

"Only since forever," I yell to the camera around Ziva's throat. "There's no way he's your guy, Gibbs. Trust me!"

"I hope you have more than a good feeling to back up that assumption," he answers tersely.

What's with him? I don't wanna tell him, but I don't have a choice. "As a matter of fact, I do. On the night of the second murder, he was at my apartment. All night."

Gibbs doesn't reply.

"We will keep dancing," Ziva tells me. "You are more likely to be approached if you are alone."

Together, we vacate the platform and head for the bar, picking up another drink for me before they take up a spot on the dance-floor nearby. I lean against one of the tables, sipping my drink and watching them. They'd make a cute couple if they'd ever admit it.

"You look lonely."

I don't recognise the guy who's addressing me. He's tall, well-built, and quite hot in a predatory, arrogant kinda way. His long black hair is tied back, and he has a gorgeous, rambling set of Celtic-design tattoos down his arms.

"I feel like a third wheel," I say, shrugging, gesturing to Tony and Ziva. They're still dancing, but Tony's angled so his camera feed's on me at all times. "Dig your tatts!"

He glances down at them, smiles. "Thanks. Designed 'em myself."

Did I say 'arrogant'? I meant 'really arrogant'. "Very cool."

"Yours are awesome," he says, making no attempt to hide his appraisal of me.

"Get his name, Abby," Gibbs warns in my ear, sounding a little on-edge.

I smile and stick out a hand for him to shake. "I'm Abby." I don't wanna lie in case he already knows my name, but I'm tempted.

He takes my hand in his, fingertips lingering against my wrist as he pulls back again. "Steve. Can I get you a drink?"

"Isolate and freeze-frame," I hear Gibbs tell McGee, and hold still, letting him get the shot.

"I'm good for now," I tell Steve, holding up my mostly-full glass. "Can I get _you_ one?"

Amused by the turn-around, he laughs and nods. "Wouldn't say no to a beer."

As I turn to the bar, I feel his eyes on my back, sweeping over my tatts, assessing me analytically. I don't need Ducky here to know that under the surface, this guy is trouble. For a split-second, I wonder how Serena and the other girls didn't pick up on it. Then again, the blood alcohol of each of the victims was off the charts. They probably wouldn't have noticed if he had a sign around his neck screaming 'I'm a psycho killer!'

Oh my god. He's a psycho killer, and I'm buying him a drink. For a brief, panicked moment, I want to yell, _Gibbs, get me out of here, I can't do this!_ But I've come this far. I have to see this through.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! I'm a great lover of Ye Olde Cliffhanger... you can probably tell!**


	3. Method Acting

**Author's Note**: Hey everyone! Thanks so much for the kind words, you all rock. I'm hugging you all... in my mind... right now. XD But I get the feeling you're all going to hate me after this update! :D

And because Kelly said it and it amused me, I shall start this chapter with a phoof! Because I'm randomly pretentious that way.

* * *

_Phoof! (Greyed-out shot of Abby glancing at Ziva and Tony as she leaves the club...)_

* * *

"Do you wanna dance?"

The invitation comes sooner than I'd expected. I force a smile, hoping it looks natural. "I'm gonna hit the ladies' room, and _then_ I'll dance with you. And if you're not here when I get back, you're really missing out…"

He raises an appreciative eyebrow, and I go cold at his appraisal. "Trust me, I'm not going anywhere," he says.

I head for the bathroom, sighing with relief as the door swishes closed behind me. I'm safe… for now.

"You okay, Abbs?" Gibbs asks.

The door opens behind me, and I jump out of my skin as Ziva appears. "Relax. It is just me."

I turn to the mirror, adjusting one of my pigtails. "Sorry. I'm a little jumpy."

"You're doing great," Gibbs says, and I bask in the glow of his approval, trying a smile as I direct my words to my reflection's camera feed.

"Thanks. Do I get my honorary Special Agent badge?"

"Just as soon as you get out of here," he replies wryly as I dig around in my bag for lipstick. I had it here somewhere. Where the hell is it?

"Here." Ziva hands me hers. It's not black, but it'll do. I scrub off the lipstick I'm already wearing and begin to apply the new coat, proud that my hand's not shaking too badly. "We are thinking this is our culprit, yes?"

"No, Ziva, it's the _other_ tattoo-obsessed freak fawning over Abby." Tony's voice is tinny through the earwig and heavy with sarcasm, and she scowls in reply.

"I did not–"

Before she can get any further, I cut her off. I don't wanna talk about this too much. It's only gonna make me more nervous. I know what I have to do and I don't wanna give it much more thought than I already have. "I'm taking out the earwig."

"_The hell you are_." Gibbs authoritative growl cuts over McGee's and Tony's protests. And yeah, it makes me tingly. But I'm not thinking about that, either. I gotta focus.

"I'm gonna have to. He's already in my personal space, and now we're gonna dance? If he sees the earwig it'll scare him off, and then we'll have nothing."

"Abby is right, Gibbs." Surprised and pleased, I stare at Ziva, who continues, "In truth I am surprised he has not already noticed it. I did not think he would focus so much attention on her, but he seems as if he wants to eat her. There is no way he will overlook the earwig for much longer, especially if they are dancing."

For a long moment, the guys are all silent, knowing we're right. They're all so over-protective. I'm glad that at least Ziva isn't underestimating me. "I'll leave the mic and camera as they are. But the earwig's gotta go, whether you like it or not, Gibbs."

I can imagine his pissed-off expression as if he's here in person, but I'm not budging. And he knows it. "If you need to get out, Abbs-"

"Then having you chattering in my ear isn't gonna help. If I think things are getting scary…" Hmm. "Scar_ier_… I'll start talking about caffeine. Deal?"

Reluctantly, he agrees. "Deal."

Ziva nods. "We will have her covered at all times, Gibbs."

"You better, David," he snaps.

"Any last words of wisdom before I do this thing?" I ask, taking a deep breath.

McGee is the first to reply. "Be careful."

I love my Timmy. He's such a sweetie. Which is why it would never have worked out between us. "I will. I promise."

"Get him to tell you a little about himself." That's Tony. "He might say something we can use."

"Got it." I can do that. I hope.

"Don't let him do _anything_ you're not comfortable with." Gibbs, of course. And it's not a request. I get the feeling that by the end of the night I'm gonna be in the doghouse, cause leaving a club with a guy _without_ a little mauling first? It's not gonna happen. I've already resigned myself to it.

I could tell him that, but it'd just get him annoyed for no good reason. "I won't. Wish me luck…" I take the earwig out before I lose my nerve and drop it into my purse, taking one final glance in the mirror before turning to Ziva. "I'm ready."

She takes back the lipstick I hold out to her. "We will stay close."

I should feel reassured, but as I walk back across the club, flashing my best seductive smile at Steve, I feel a growing sense of dread. He doesn't seem to notice, taking my hand and pulling me onto the dance-floor. "What is it about chicks and bathrooms?"

"They're full of mirrors and we're really vain?" It makes him laugh. A killer with a sense of humour, huh?

It's getting to the time of night when people are mostly hooked up, and the DJ's responding by playing the slower, sexier yet still totally hardcore songs in his collection. We fall in with the beat, keeping our distance at first, barely touching. He's waiting for me to make the first move, and I…

I'm scared that if I do, I'll start shaking, and he'll know I'm onto him.

But if I don't get it together, I'll lose his interest. Come on, Abigail! Just do it!

I step into his embrace, expecting him to draw back suspiciously at any moment. He doesn't. As I slip my arms around his neck, his fingers slide over the naked flesh of my back, and suddenly I know that method acting is the way to go.

I remember earlier on, the tentative hug Gibbs gave me, his hands touching me, right… there. Desire heats my skin. I close my eyes, shutting out Steve's face, replacing his image with one of the man I want so badly, the one person I can never have.

Steve – _Gibbs_, gotta keep thinking it's Gibbs or I'm gonna freeze up – kisses the side of my neck, his lips exploring my spiderweb tattoo. It tickles, and I allow myself a tiny giggle.

"How many tattoos do you have?" he breathes in my ear. I knew I was right about taking the earwig out. If I hadn't I'd be totally busted right about now.

"Eighteen."

He draws back a little, and I see the predatory hunger in his expression as he begins to count. Usually that kind of look turns me on. Tonight it just leaves me cold.

"One…" The spiderweb. I count right along with him, keeping Gibbs at the forefront of my mind. It's the only way I can keep my muscles from going taut.

"Two…" The smiling face on my middle finger, my most recent addition.

"Three…" The RIP on my left arm, his index finger tracing the letters. I watch its progress, imagining that finger running over the smooth framework of a freshly-sandpapered sailboat.

"Four…" The three triangles on the inside of my wrist. His thumb glides over them, and then he switches to my right arm.

"Five…" The infinity symbol, swirling across my flesh.

"Six…" A stylised letter 'P', the atomic symbol for the element phosphorus. I remember Gibbs' reaction to my explanation, given so long ago. _A friend once told me I was glowy like phosphorus. _He'd frowned at me, not even pretending to follow, and I just smiled and shook my head. _You kinda had to be there._

Steve spins me in his arms so my back is to him, jerking me back to the present. We still move with the music, but barely.

"Seven..." His lips brush over the stick figure on my right shoulder, only just skimming the skin.

"Eight..." The stick figure on the other shoulder, innocently perched.

His fingers drift down my spine, exploring my cross tattoo. "Nine. Did it hurt?"

The question grounds me a little, reminding me who's really touching me: a murdering freak who gets off on tattoos. "Like hell," I say, hoping he'll attribute my involuntary shudder to the memory of the pain.

His arms tighten around me again, his chest pressed against my back, and we dance for a few moments, silent. Then his left hand drifts down, over my hip. Oh, god, he can't be…? Two fingers come to rest upon the hissing mouth of my snake tattoo, dangerously close to the hem of my teeny skirt. "Ten."

I can't help my ragged gasp as my brain flashes up a defensive image to save me from freaking out: Gibbs, holding me tight against him, following the outline of the tattoo's needle-sharp fangs with a finger as he whispers, "Where are the other eight?"

But it's not Gibbs asking me the question.

"One on each ankle," I say slowly, struggling to think past the warring instincts of want and revulsion. "A smiling face and a triangle made of dots. One on my stomach. A bat."

His fingers leave my thigh, travelling back over my hip-bone and pulling up my shirt, exposing my midriff to the entire club. The winged creature hovers over my navel, a tribute to Kate, who once sketched me as a pigtail-wearing vampire bat.

"And the other five?" Steve asks softly.

I feel my blush deepen, well aware that Gibbs, Tony and Ziva are listening in. And McGee, but he already knows where all my tatts are. "You'll just have to see, won't you?" I say, turning in his arms, smiling up at him. "I'm thinking about getting another. Right… here." It's a lie, a diversionary tactic. The ribs are supposed to be _the_ most painful place to have a tattoo done, and I know he'll get a kick out of it. So I move his hand up, positioning it just below my right breast, over my ribs. I'd rather get felt up a little than discuss the rest of my tatts with the rest of the team eavesdropping.

"Really? Well, it just so happens I'm a tattoo artist." There you go, Tony. Think that's something we can use? "There's not much flesh between skin and bone in the rib area. I've had girls pass out from the pain."

I'll just bet you have, you scary nutjob. Right before you strangled them… oh god, don't think about it, don't think…

"I'll consider it an endurance test. And maybe if you show me a few more of your designs, I'll let you be the one to test me." I nudge back the sleeve of his shirt, exposing another section of his tattoo – which is still seriously cool, so I don't need to feign too much of my interest – and making it clear that I'm not talking about paper designs.

It's too much for him to resist any longer. He brings his lips down on mine, hard, and I fall against him, pouring my pent-up nervous energy into returning the kiss, my whirling thoughts once more returning to Gibbs. When we break, we're both breathless.

"Wanna come see my tattoo studio?" he asks, and I nod against my better judgement. He hasn't done anything we can arrest him for yet. If he gets GHB into my system, that'll be another story. Gibbs can get him on intent to indecently assault, and then throw the book at him for murder.

Gibbs is gonna kill me for being so reckless. If this guy doesn't get there first.

Steve pulls me toward the exit, and out of the corner of my eye I see Tony and Ziva immediately converge to follow us. "Let's get out of here."

* * *

_Phoof! _


	4. Choking

**Author's Note**: Thanks so much for the feedback, everyone! You're all gonna hate me for this chapter. I kinda hate myself. XD But I promise this isn't going to be a tragedy fic! I love my Gabby too much for that... And yes, I still blame Kelly for the _phoof-_ing I'm doing! :p

* * *

_Phoof! (Greyed-out image of a glass hitting the floor and shattering, spilling its contents all over the tiled floor...)  
_

* * *

I shiver as the freezing winter air hits my exposed flesh. "Don't suppose you'd be able to lend a girl your jacket, would you?" A jacket means fibres, and fibres mean evidence.

"No need. It's only a few doors down from here."

Wait. How can that be? "There _are_ no tattoo studios on this street." If there were, Gibbs and the rest of the team would've been all over this guy days ago.

He smiles, the expression a little self-congratulatory. "Not yet. But I have the premises, and the equipment… all I need now is the advertising and the sign above the door, and I'll be in business."

Suddenly everything makes a lot more sense. Why so close to the club, why tattooed girls… "Sweet," I say, leaning on his arm, pretending to be a little more tipsy than I am. "You gonna show me your needles?"

Steve laughs, pulling me closer. "Count on it, babe."

Babe? That's just tacky. I bite down on the impulse to tell him so, hoping Tony and Ziva are still following us. I daren't look around to check.

"We're here." He halts in front of a vacant building I've walked past a million times, and pulls out a set of keys. Opening the door, he guides me through the entryway, kicking the door shut behind him – but not locking it, I notice with relief – and presses me back against the wall, kissing me deeply.

I let my mind drift back to Gibbs again, forcing myself to relax into the embrace. He moves his lips lower, over my spiderweb again, and terror chills me to the bone as I realise he probably plans to take me here, in the hallway. I can't let that happen, I just can't! Not for Serena, not for anybody.

"Hey, wait," I murmur, and he draws back to look at me, impatient and hungry for more.

I'm gonna have to play the pain card again, although even the thought of it makes me sick. "Don't you wanna show me around first? Being around needles and ink kinda makes me hot. And I could really use another drink."

Am I really giving this guy an opportunity to spike my drink? Am I crazy?!

My words pull him back down to earth, and he takes my hand with a smirk, leading me up the rickety, narrow staircase up into the first-floor waiting room of the studio.

It's cosy, with a few comfortable chairs dotted around and panels of tattoo designs all over the walls. I examine a few of them without having to feign my interest. A thin, snakelike tribal dragon catches my attention, and I point it out to him. "Did you design this one?"

"Yeah," he answers, barely looking at it, his eyes focused intently on me. "You like it?"

I really, really do, and that makes me sad. He's so talented, yet so twisted… "I love it."

"It'd look perfect on you." He runs a hand over my ribcage again, where I told him I wanted my next tatt. One thing's for sure: even if every other square inch of my skin ends up tattooed, I'll never be able to even consider getting one there. "Want me to do you?"

Oh, crap. "Now? Okay, but I'm gonna need to be a lot more drunk if you're gonna do my ribs…"

Every time I open my mouth, I dig myself in a little deeper. Now more than ever, I feel like screaming for Gibbs. But I don't know how far away Tony and Ziva are, whether they even managed to follow me here.

And I can't use my code word yet. We hardly have any more to go on now than we did when I was back at the club. Sure, this _might_ be the place he killed the other girls, but what if it isn't?

"I always keep a little something on hand for emergencies," he says, and it takes me a second to register that he's talking about alcohol. He kisses me again, which I endure as best I can, and then heads out of the waiting room, into what I assume must be the actual studio. "Check out the panel over the sofa," he calls back over his shoulder, and I do. The fact that it's on the wall furthest away from where he's preparing drinks isn't lost on me.

I consider sneaking up to the door and trying to get video footage of him spiking my drink, but it's just too risky. Instead, I dig my earwig out of my purse, whispering, "Gibbs?"

His voice in my ear makes me almost collapse with relief. "Right here, Abbs."

"I'm freaking out," I confess softly, my voice cracking for the first time since Steve introduced himself to me.

"We're right outside the door. You're doing fine. Just say the word and we'll be there."

I swallow, trying to compose myself. "I'm gonna drink what he gives me. When I feel myself starting to go under, that's when I'll say it."

"Don't-" Gibbs starts.

"You okay?" Steve appears behind me and I palm the earwig, turning with a shaky smile. "Hey… what's wrong? You look shook up."

Oh god oh god oh god he knows… "This tattoo," I lie, hoping I sound convincing as I point to the design of a super-detailed tragedy mask on the wall. "It reminds me of one my best friend in high school had."

He hands me the drink, and I immediately take a sip, forcing my turning stomach to accept the liquid. It'll probably take about fifteen minutes for the drug to take effect, and I don't wanna spend a minute more than I have to with this psycho.

"Your friend had tattoos in high school?" Steve asks sceptically.

Oh, god. _Think_, Abigail! "Her brother owned a tattoo studio a little like this. He gave her her first tatt when she was fourteen. And the one like this was the last one she had before she…"

Died? What are you doing?! First you tell him you want him to tattoo you, then you drink the probably drugged vodka orange he gives you, and now you're talking to him about death? This is so screwed up!

"That's rough. I'm sorry."

Yeah, sure you are.

I take another swallow of the drink and shrug. "Thanks. It was a long time ago." Handing the glass back to him, I reach for my bag and pretend to be searching for a tissue to blot my watery eyes, dropping the earwig into the bottom in the process.

"Wanna see the studio? Might take your mind off things…"

Oh, so now you've drugged me you're gonna start being sweet? "Sure," I agree, trying a smile. "I like to check a place out before I let people start sticking needles in me."

He places a hand on the small of my back, fingers brushing my cross tatt yet again, and steers me into the immaculate studio. I can't help but be impressed – everything is as sterile and professional as my own lab. "Wow!"

Steve begins to show me around as I continue to down my drink. It's not until he takes out packs of sterile needles and begins to crack one open, grinning, that I get a little woozy.

At first I think it's psychosomatic light-headedness, that I'm scared by the thought that maybe I'm gonna have to go through with getting the tatt. But as I take a step forward to admire his inks, I stumble, the nervous nausea I've been feeling all night intensifying. My vision blurs, and I gasp out, "Whoa. Steve? I don't feel so good…"

There's something I'm meant to be saying, something that will mean I need help. But I can't… whoa. The glass slips from my hand, and I watch it break on the floor, spilling vodka and orange juice and GHB everywhere almost in slow motion. That's kinda cool. And pretty. And… ouch.

My knees give out, and I hit the floor, my vision tunnelling. I wish Gibbs were here… some Caf-Pow! right about now would be good…

"Abby?" I hear the murderer's voice as if from a long distance away. "Are you okay?"

Caf-Pow!... Caf-Pow!... why is that so important? _If you need to get out, Abbs…_

Oh, yeah. "I could really use some…" What's the word? Not Caf-Pow!. Not coffee. "Caffeine," I manage to whisper, pleased with my brain for coming up with the association. The floor-tiles are cold against my cheek, and my collar is choking me. I want to lift my hands to unfasten it, but I can't move. I know I should be scared, but I feel disembodied, detached from myself. My senses fade, leaving me floating in dark confusion. Then nothing.

* * *

_Phoof!_


	5. Motion Sickness

**Author's Note**: You guys rock and I love you. XD I think this is maybe a bit of an anti-climax, but I'm more of a shipper than a plotter, so hey. Hope it doesn't let anyone down too badly.

* * *

_Phoof! (Greyed-out image of Abby sitting up in bed, grinning...)_

**

* * *

**

Gibbs

"I'm freaking out." Abby's voice cracks, and I grit my teeth against the impulse to kick open the door, run upstairs and take her in my arms.

"We're right outside the door," I tell her, as reassuringly as I can. "You're doing fine. Just say the word and we'll be there."

She tells me she plans to let Steven Everett drug her, and I almost lose control of the disbelief and fear that surfaces. "Don't you dare-"

Everett's voice cuts me off, and I exchange glances with Tony and Ziva, checking they're ready to burst in at a moment's notice. Tony nods back, the conflict in his face mirroring mine. Ziva's a little more stoic, but every one of her muscles is wound tight as she awaits the signal.

Abby makes a few deft conversational leaps, quelling Everett's suspicions, and McGee confirms through the earwig that Abby is drinking what he's given her – _damnit, Abbs, what did I tell you?_ – and that her video feed is a little unsteady.

A glass shatters, and McGee cries out in alarm, "Boss, I think she needs backup…"

Nodding to Ziva and Tony, I ease open the door and start up the stairs, moving as quietly as I can. Abby hasn't used her code-word yet, and until she does or until I can get a visual on her, stealth is the way to go, however much I might want to take the stairs two at a time.

"I could really use some…"

I don't wait for her to finish the sentence, or for McGee to relay what he's seeing on the video feed from the van. Her voice is weak, and I can almost feel the fear and confusion in it.

"Federal agents!" I make straight for the studio door, weapon drawn.

The sight that greets me is almost enough to paralyse me in my tracks. I take in Abby, slumped on the ground, motionless, paler than usual, her decorative collar askew. And Everett, unarmed, crouched over her, taking her damn pulse.

He looks up at us in genuine panic – no doubt because there are three guns levelled at his head. "I need some help here! Call an ambulance! She just-"

I want to put a bullet through his forehead, but if he has a weapon, I can't see it. "Tony," I snap out.

Everett doesn't put up a fight as Tony hauls him to his feet, wrenching his hands painfully behind his back to cuff him. I tune out the reading of his Miranda rights and his yelled responses, all my awareness focused on Abby. Shrugging out of my jacket, I fold it and gently place it under her head.

"McGee, get Ducky here, now!"

"No need, Jethro." Ducky appears at the top of the stairs, McGee behind him. "Young Timothy called me as soon as Abigail got in here."

_Anticipate, McGee_. He's learned my lesson well. I make a mental note to buy him a cup of that crap he calls coffee.

"Let's have a look at you, my dear," Ducky says, nudging me aside and crouching beside Abby. He removes her collar, tilts back her head, checks her airway, then takes her pulse with businesslike efficiency. Only his furrowed brow betrays his concern.

After what seems like forever, he nods and sits back. "She's fine, Jethro. Under the effects of the drug, of course, but in a couple of hours she'll be awake and on the road to recovery."

I let out the breath I didn't realise I was holding. "How close did he get?" I ask, needing to know. How close did I cut it? How much longer before permanent damage would have been done?

"From the looks of things, he slid the metal spoke of the buckle out of its hole and cinched the collar in tight around her neck," Ducky explains, picking up the discarded collar to demonstrate. "If you hadn't interrupted when you had, her oesophagus would have been crushed."

I grit my teeth, wishing I could un-hear that last part. Ducky looks a little sheepish, handing over the collar. "I apologise, Jethro. It's been a while since I've worked on a living patient."

"Any damage?" I ask, my eyes on the red mark around Abby's throat.

Ducky shakes his head. "Nothing permanent. Minimal bruising – he'd barely started. She'll feel a bit tender for a couple of days, but she'll soon recover."

McGee steps forward from his anxious place on the sidelines. "Shouldn't she go to hospital, Ducky?"

Ducky stands, clapping him on the shoulder. "They couldn't do anything for her that time won't fix, I'm afraid. The only thing she can do is sleep it off." He looks over at me. "I'll get the stretcher from the van, and we'll get her home. I'm sure she'll appreciate waking up in her own bed."

She will. And I'm gonna be there when she does. "Thanks, Duck."

* * *

"Gibbs…"

The barely-breathed word jerks me out of my thoughts, and I turn from the window, making my way to Abby's bedside. "Right here, Abbs."

We can both hear the relief in my voice, and she smiles, opening her eyes. "I didn't know you were actually here."

I don't let myself stop to think too hard about that statement. If I overanalysed everything Abby's ever said to me, I'd never do anything else. "How're you feeling?"

"Floaty," she whispers, unconsciously touching a hand to the ligature mark on her slender throat. "I had a weird dream that my collar was strangling m…" Realisation dawns on her, and she struggles upright, a sick look crossing her features. "Oh, my god. Did we get him?"

"We got him," I confirm, and she sags back against the pillows, reassured.

"Good."

I hand her a glass of water, and she sips it slowly, beginning to surface from her drugged state a little. "I feel like I just went ten rounds with the devil."

For the first time since before the mission, I smile a little at the mental image, and she responds in kind. "Who won?" I ask, taking the glass from her and setting it back down.

"I'll let you know when I figure it out. So how was _your_ night?" she asks dryly. She's making light of the situation, but I see the real question in her eyes. _How close was I to dying?_

I take a moment to think about how to answer, but my mind seizes her literal words and runs with them. How was _my_ night?

* * *

"_DiNozzo! David! You're giving me motion sickness!"_

"_Gibbs, we are dancing. Trying to blend in." Ziva sounds a little pissed off that I'm ruining her perfect night out. Does she think I give a damn?_

"_From now until Abby leaves, you're a wallflower," I snarl back, and reluctantly she heads to the fringes of the dance-floor, Tony behind her. When they're in position, cameras angled toward Abby and the suspect, I tell them, "Better."_

_From the looks they give one another, they're not happy, but watching Abby reminds them of why they're here, and they settle down. And I…_

_I watch Abby, too._

_She twirls a finger around a pigtail, looking up at Everett through her long lashes. I'm not fooled by the cheerful, flirtatious façade she's putting on. Anyone else would be, but I see otherwise. I read it in her gestures – they're a little more agitated than usual, and her hands occasionally move into the beginnings of a sign to match the words she's speaking, never quite clear enough to be interpreted._

_And every instinct within me is screaming that I should get her out of there. I feel it in my gut – Everett is our killer._

_But my gut won't get us a conviction. Any evidence Abby can uncover will._

_Then he leads her out onto the dance-floor, and he begins to count her tattoos. Grinds against her, kissing the side of her neck. And suddenly I want to kill him, because she's letting him do it, relaxing into his touches, even smiling a little._

_She's enjoying herself. And the knowledge makes me sick to my stomach._

_I tell myself it's because I don't want her falling for a guy who only wants to kill her. But I can't lie to myself for long. As he slides a finger along her inner thigh and her gasp tears through the audio feed, I realise just how jealous I really am._

_Beside me, McGee shifts uncomfortably, and I glance over. His eyes are glued to the monitor, and his hands are clenched into fists._

_So are mine._

"_Abby is a better actress than I thought she would be," Ziva comments._

"_Uh, Ziva, I don't think she's acting."_

_Y'think, DiNozzo?_

* * *

**Abby**

"You don't want a blow-by-blow, Abbs," Gibbs tells me, shaking his head.

Exasperated and a little nauseous, I try to glare at him, but I get the feeling I'm still too groggy to look threatening. "If you don't tell me, I'm gonna force it out of someone else. And I'd rather hear it from you."

He can't say no to me at the best of times, and we both know it. Right now, I'm as weak as a kitten, but that only makes it harder for him to brush me off. I'm glad about that, cause I need to _know._ Having no memory of three hours of my life is kinda freaking me out.

"After you left the club, Tony and Ziva tailed you. Once you were inside the tattoo place, I left McGee in the van watching the feed and caught up with them."

I nod, psyching myself up for his words. His eyes move over me as though he's checking I'm still alive, breathing, moving. "When you went under, we were at the top of the stairs. We got to you, and you were out cold on the floor. He'd been using your collar to choke you, but as soon as he heard us coming he pretended you'd collapsed."

Oh, god… Remembering how tight my collar had felt just before I passed out, I touch a hand to the sore band of skin around my neck. "My collar," I say softly, trying to push away the thought that if it wasn't for Gibbs, I'd be dead right now. "Well, that's new."

Hey, what's…? An injection site? Did he…? "Gibbs?" I ask uneasily, holding up my arm. "What's this?"

"Ducky took a blood sample," Gibbs says.

Ducky rocks! I was drugged, and now we have forensic evidence that I was drugged, and… "I'll be able to isolate the GHB!" Enthusiasm lending strength to my muscles, I sit up. The room spins, and I put a hand out to steady myself. "Geez… so dizzy…"

Gibbs watches me, and I can see his concern. It's kinda sweet. Okay, a lot sweet. Anyone who says Gibbs doesn't do sweet? They're totally lying. "Ducky said it'll pass, but you need to take it easy for the rest of the night."

The rest of the night?! "Gibbs, I don't have time to be dizzy! I have to get to work! I have fibres to compare and DNA to cross-reference…" And Caf-Pow! to drink and music to listen to way too loud…

"Phil Trevorah's got it all under control," he replies calmly.

_WHAT?!_

"Ugh! You let that cretin loose in my lab?! Now I really have to get up. Do you know what happened _last _time he filled in for me? He mixed my methylene blue with my Ninhydrin! I lost an entire batch!" Powered by pure anger-filled adrenaline, I kick back the covers, realising a little too late that I'm still wearing my barely-there clubbing outfit. My skirt rides up dangerously, flashing more of my snake tatt than Gibbs probably ever wanted to see. Oops… Sliding off the edge of the bed, I stand, managing to stay upright for a split-second before I feel the blood rushing from my face. "Whoa…"

Gibbs catches me as I fall, and I grin up – or what I think is up – at him, putting my arms around his neck. To steady myself. Sure, Abby. "Or maybe I'll stay here a little longer," I mumble, the words almost drowned out by the ringing in my ears.

"Mm-hmm. I think that's a good idea." He supports me, trying to help me back down to the bed, but I don't wanna let go. I'm so happy he's here, and relieved that I still have the use of my oesophagus-

Oh my god.

Gibbs' hands are on me again, his fingers chasing up and down my exposed spine in a totally non-platonic way. My nerve endings scream out in complete ecstasy, goosebumps rippling over my flesh as I fight back the urge to tilt up my head, stand on tiptoe and kiss him full on the lips.

The instant he consciously realises what he's doing, I know it. His body tenses, his fingers ceasing their rhythmic movements, and then he steps back, helping me to take a seat on the bed.

In his eyes, I see conflict – or at least I think I do. I can't think clearly enough to interpret his expression properly, but I get the feeling he's berating himself for taking advantage while I still have GHB in my system. I want to tell him not to, but GHB can cause delusions, right? And if Gibbs really felt that way, I'd know it. I'm probably imagining the whole thing… but what if I'm not?

I store the thoughts away to analyse later and give Gibbs a tired smile. "Thanks, Gibbs."

He raises an eyebrow. "For what?"

For saving my life, for worrying about me, for letting your hands wander… "For knowing I wouldn't want to be alone tonight. I know you should be at the Navy Yard charging… him."

In his typical Gibbs-style, he brushes off my gratitude, standing up. "DiNozzo can handle it. I'm gonna go make us some coffee."

I could really use a caffeine hit right now, but the thought of coffee turns my stomach. "Caf-Pow!?" I ask hopefully.

He turns in the doorway, and I give him my best cute-and-expectant look. His lips twitch up slightly in a suppressed smile as he crosses back to the bed, picking up his wallet and keys from the nightstand. "Caf-Pow!."

"Yay!"

* * *

_Phoof!_


	6. Give Me a Reason

**Author's Note**: Thank you all for your lovely, encouraging words. :) I'm gonna really try to start responding to more signed reviews in future. :)

* * *

_Phoof!_ _(Greyed-out image of Abby staring, completely stunned, into space...)_

**Abby**

The door opens behind me for the third time since I came in, and I sigh, not even bothering to look around. "Timmy, I'm fine, I swear. As long as you don't tell Gibbs or Ducky I'm here, no harm can possibly come to me."

"Oh, don't worry, I won't."

I freeze at the decidedly un-McGee-like voice that answers me. Busted! "Oops…"

"Told you to take the day off, Abby." Gibbs closes the door to interrogation's observation room and walks over to stand beside me.

"I know. But I feel fine, Gibbs. Just a little tired, is all."

For a second, I think he's gonna push it, march me straight out to his car and drive me back home. But he lets it go, turning his eyes to Steve Everett, who's sitting on the other side of the one-way glass.

I've been in here for around fifteen minutes, freaking myself out a little. I know he can't see me, but it feels as though he can, and occasionally he'll look straight through the mirror, trying to psych out whoever's standing on the other side. It's working.

"What're you doing here, Abbs?"

I can't really explain it. "I wanted to see what he looks like in daylight." If I don't face my fear before he goes off to jail, I'm gonna keep waking up in a cold sweat, feeling as though I can't breathe. I can't live my life that way.

"That's not daylight," Gibbs points out. It's true. Interrogation has no windows.

"Figuratively speaking. But he just seems like a normal guy."

He sighs, shaking his head. "They all do."

For a second, I'm quiet, debating whether or not to tell him. My need to vent wins out. "I knew," I say softly, my eyes still on Everett. "As soon as I saw the attention he was giving my tatts, I knew."

"But you fell for him anyway?"

Huh? Wait… huh? "What? Trust me, Gibbs. I didn't. There's no way I could–"

Gibbs transfers his gaze from the killer to me, and I see the scepticism there. "Abbs, I saw the effect he had on you."

Oh. The method acting. I guess the Oscar goes to me. I wanna thank my family, my friends, and one really hot Special Agent who made it all possible… "His hands were on me, but my mind was on…" _You._ Say it! "… someone else."

I look down at my fidgeting fingers, waiting for his response. None comes, and I chance a look up at him, catching him regarding me thoughtfully. "What?" I ask, unnerved by his silence.

"Gonna tell me who?" he says, a smile in his voice. If I didn't know any better, I'd think he _knew_. But he doesn't. He can't know. Not even Gibbs is _that_ good.

"That's need to know," I tease him, walking over to the panel of recording and listening equipment and examining a few of the dials.

"And I need to know." He steps up behind me, invading my personal space in his usual unrepentant way, and I try not to catch my breath, knowing something's different this time. He really _does_ know. But how?

"You do?" I ask, the words emerging small and hopeful.

"Mmm-hmm…" His hands slide over my hip-bones, pulling me back against his body, and I grin through the electric shock of belonging and yearning the move brings.

Tilting my head back to rest on his shoulder, I tell him, "I don't know, Gibbs… you're a trained investigator. Maybe you should figure it out for yourself."

He laughs softly, but before he can retaliate we hear approaching voices in the corridor. By mutual agreement, we step apart, looking toward the door. A couple seconds later the interrogation techs step back into observation, returning from their lunch break.

"Sorry about the wait, Special Agent Gibbs," one of them says. "Traffic's real heavy today for some reason."

"No problem, Erica," Gibbs responds, shifting out of the way to let her take her seat. He nudges me toward the door. "Go home, Abby…"

Go home? Now? After he just…? Not a chance. "I'll be in my lab."

He sighs, his concern manifesting as frustration. "Damnit, Abbs-"

"Remember that little story I told you last night? Methylene blue. Ninhydrin. I'll be lucky if Trevorah hasn't managed to blow up my babies!"

Without giving him time to argue, I start to head off down the corridor. In two quick strides he follows, catching my arm and pulling me back toward him. The move takes him out of the line of sight of the techs in observation, and the corridor is empty. No one can see us.

I stare up at Gibbs, my heart still pounding from the memory of his hands on my hips. His knowing look tells me he knows exactly where my mind's at, and I give him one right back, because he's totally thinking the same thing.

He kisses me, just a brief brush of his lips against mine before he releases my arm, too soon. I gasp at his hit-and-run approach, my body craving his touch more intensely than it craves caffeine after a three-day abstinence from Caf-Pow!. "Now go home and get some rest," he orders.

"After that, do you think I could sleep?" I ask, grinning giddily. He just looks at me, waiting. "Okay, okay," I give in, rolling my eyes, "you win, I'll go home…"

He nods and lets me start off down the hallway again. And I make my way to my lab. My second home.

Semantics are fun.

* * *

**McGee**

I open the door to observation and stick my head in. "Ab-"

But she's not here. Tony and Ziva are in their usual positions, standing side by side, watching Gibbs at work. Other than them and an interrogation tech, the room's empty.

Tony notices me. "Caf-Pow!, for me? How sweet!"

"It's for Abby," I tell him, yanking the cup out of his reach.

"She is at home, resting," Ziva says.

"Nope, last time I saw her she was in here." As the words leave my lips I realise how bad that sounds. Tony picks up on it immediately.

"And you let her _stay _in here, looking at the guy who tried to strangle her? Great idea, Probie…"

"She's a grown adult, Tony." I try to defend myself, to tell him she was adamant that I leave her alone, but I already know there's no excuse. The truth is, I'm not sure how to act. She's come so close to losing her life, and I feel so helpless, but she's acting as though she's fine. I don't know if she really is, or if she ever will be. If she wants to talk, deep down, or if it'd be better to treat her like always and help her to forget.

So I left her here by herself, because she wanted me to. I was wrong. "How's the interrogation doing?" I change the subject to distract myself from my guilt.

On the other side of the glass, Gibbs slams his hand down on the table, bellowing, "I don't give a damn!"

Business as usual, then.

"Gibbs is going to throw the book at him," Ziva says. "He is just selecting the best way to set him up for the fall."

Tony has a little less faith. "He's been giving us the run-around since we brought him in. He talks about tattoos, he talks about music… he talks about everything but what we need him to talk about. Gibbs has already booked him for obstruction."

"I can't believe that guy nearly killed Abby." I'm thinking out loud.

Ziva cocks her head, and I know she's about to come out with a theory. "Gibbs cannot believe it either. You did not see how he reacted when we stormed in, McGee. He barely even took the time to check Everett was unarmed before he went straight to Abby."

"She's Abby," I rationalise, pushing back a stab of misplaced jealousy. "She's his favourite."

"She is that… and-"

The door to interrogation opens, and Tony pauses mid-sentence as we all wait to see who enters. Whoever it is, they're gonna be in for a world of pain, because rule twenty-two is the one he really lays into us for breaking. Never, _ever_ interrupt Gibbs in interrogat-

It's Abby.

"What is she doing?" Ziva asks incredulously.

"Uh-oh…" Tony murmurs.

She closes the door behind her, sealing herself into the lion's den.

* * *

**Gibbs**

I glare at the opening door, ready to give DiNozzo hell, but the words die on my lips as I realise just who's standing there.

It's Abby, looking small and scared, yet determined. "Sorry to interrupt," she says, and Everett's head snaps up as he recognises her voice.

"What the hell are you doing?" I ask her, sounding harsher than I intended. This is the absolute worst place for her to be right now.

Abby holds up a cheek swab collection kit and evidence bag. "Warrant came through for a DNA sample."

Is she insane? We already have his DNA from a bottle Tony picked up in the club, and she knows it. I don't know what her logic behind this is, but I'm gonna find out. But not in front of this bastard.

Against my better judgement, I step aside, letting her into the line of sight of the man who almost snuffed out her life yesterday. With a thankful nod, she steps up to Everett, taking the plastic wrapping off the sterile implement.

He smirks at her, his eyes on the bruising around her throat, which is highlighted by the bleak lighting of the room. I see her swallow hard. "Open your mouth." Her voice is mechanical, emotionless, and it cuts me to my core.

Everett's grin widens, and he stands up, closing the distance between them. "Nasty bruises you got there. I have a collar or two stashed away in a draw back home that'd hide 'em, no problem."

My hands ball into fists – he's talking about the collars he took from his previous victims. Trophies.

He reaches out a hand toward her, and the words fall from my lips without me even having to think them. "Go ahead. Just give me a reason to break your arm."

For a second longer, he continues to reach out. Abby stands her ground, teeth gritted, only her slightly hunched shoulders betraying the fear behind her angry façade.

I take a step forward, and he backs down, dropping his hand to his side and opening his mouth wide, all the while staring at Abby.

She rubs the swab over the inside of his cheek, gathering cells with a deceptively steady hand. As she withdraws it from his mouth, he grabs her wrist. "I'll remember you when I'm inside. I'll remember what you felt like under my hands while I was choking the life out of you-"

I hit him, so hard that he stumbles back against the table, cursing. God, that feels good. I struggle against the urge to carry on hitting until his face is unrecognisable, and manage to restrain myself as Abby makes her escape, DNA swab in hand.

Everett pulls himself upright, yelling, "I'm gonna send you down for assault, man! Video footage'll back me up-"

I turn to the one-way glass. "DiNozzo. David. Did you see anything?"

Tony hits the intercom button, his words coming loud and clear over the speakers. "Not a thing, Boss."

"Beginning creative editing of footage now," Ziva chips in. Sometimes pre-arranged bluffs can be so convincing.

"See you in court," I snarl at Everett, and leave the room before he can retort.

In the hallway, McGee, Ziva and Tony emerge from interrogation, but I wave a hand at them before they can speak. "Later."

I need to find Abby.

* * *

**Abby**

I shut off the faucet and blot my face with a paper towel, taking care not to smudge my eye makeup, then take a deep breath to compose myself.

Without warning, the bathroom door crashes open and Gibbs storms in, locking the door behind him. "What the hell were you thinking, Abby? You know we already have his DNA!"

I guess I knew he was gonna do this. And there's totally no point in reminding him this is a ladies' room. "Official channels, Gibbs!" I snap back at him. "I know you like to pretend they don't exist, but I don't need him walking free on a technicality!"

"Then you should'a gotten Ducky in there. You didn't need that, and you _know_ he got off on it."

I was trying not to think about that bit. "I got a confession from him, right? McGee said he's been giving you the verbal run-around all morning."

"Not the point, Abby." His anger's faded, and now he just looks tired. Tired and worried. "You put yourself at enough risk last night."

I wasn't at risk in there. Not really, not with Gibbs to protect me. But trying to explain that to him will just get him pissed off again. "And now it's over," I say instead, finally believing it. Except… "Unless he sues you for assault. You shouldn't have hit him, Gibbs."

"I know," he admits reluctantly. Wow. Gibbs? Admitting he's wrong? Tony'll kill me for not having a Dictaphone to hand… "I lost my temper."

"It was kinda hot," I tease, beginning to feel a little more human.

He smiles a little at that, shaking his head. "Go home, Abby."

The last time he said _that_… I push away the memory of his kiss before I lose myself in it. Instead, I hold up the cheek swab. "Not until I've finished up here. I still have a ton of Trevorah's I-laughingly-use-the-term-'forensics' to double-check."

Gibbs takes hold of the hand Everett grabbed, rubbing his thumb gently over the skin. "He hurt you?"

"No," I say softly, trying to think past the tingle the show of affection brings.

He leans in close, and I hold my breath as he says, "Then get finished up here and _go home_." Following the order with another kiss so brief that I don't even realise it's started until he's pulled away, he releases my hand and steps back.

"That all I get?" I can't resist asking the question, sure that he knows it's thundering through my brain. These momentary, teasing embraces are getting me _impossibly_ stirred up, and I want more, more, please, God, _more_…

He fixes me with a look that freezes me in place, and his words leave me speechless. "For now. When I kiss you properly, there's no way I'm stopping there."

With one of his rare grins, he leaves me here, awash with the images that two short sentences have sent rushing my way.

* * *

_Phoof! (I totally need to stop doing these!)_

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	7. Distractions

**Author's Note**: Catching up on the Tiva element of the fic a little. Because I love writing Ziva. :) Still plenty of Gabby, though. Thanks for all your kind words, guys!

Edited because I forgot the _phoofs!_

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_Phoof! (Greyed-out image of Gibbs in the elevator)_

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**Ziva**

I have had a theory for a long time now: a theory that there is something between Gibbs and Abby, something unspoken and powerful. When I mentioned it to Tony and McGee shortly after my transfer to Gibbs' team, they explained it away by telling me she is his favourite. They do not seem to think anything is untoward.

Gibbs returns to the squad room, looking suspiciously calm and composed. The last time we saw him, he was striding off in Abby's direction, poised to give her the reprimand of her life. Now he looks positively _happy_. Tony and I exchange bemused glances as he grabs his jacket and announces he's going for coffee.

I watch him leave, filing away the moment in my memory. It has been a strange twenty-four hours, and my hypothesis would do much to explain it. The way she looked to him for his opinion of her outfit; his expression as he rushed to her side last night; the fact that he stayed at her bedside for hours, his usual drive to get a conviction seemingly gone… His behaviour now is just the latest in a long line of Gibbs anomalies, each one relating to Abby.

"I will be right back," I tell Tony, who barely looks up from his paperwork. Using a civilian as bait always results in many forms to fill in and protocols to be observed.

I make for the rear elevator, taking a deep breath as the doors shut behind me. In truth, I am relieved to be out of Tony's presence for a while. Last night, we spent much of our time dancing together, and there were a few heady moments where our eyes met and we fell into our own rhythm, the rest of the world falling away.

At least, it seemed that way to me. And I cannot say it is a good feeling, not entirely. I have had professional relationships turn personal in the past – it has never ended well.

So my time is much more fruitfully spent attempting to work out the enigma that is Abby and Gibbs' relationship.

The elevator arrives at its destination, and as the doors open I'm struck by the silence. Abby's lab is rarely quiet. Something is definitely going on beneath the surface.

When I walk in, she's putting the finishing touches to a huge ball of rubber bands, smoothing and adjusting the top layer. Hearing my footsteps, she glances up with a smile. "Hey, Ziva…"

"No music?"

Abby drops the ball of rubber bands to the floor, irrationally delighted when it bounces back up for her to catch. She repeats the motion several times before answering. "I got distracted. One minute!"

Crossing to her CD player, she hits play. An unexpected melody hits the air, and I recognise a very un-Abby-like song. _Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens/Bright copper kettles and war-_

Abby groans and hits eject. "God, I swear that guy exists just to piss me off! I've been finding little bits and pieces of his stuff all day. It's like he doesn't know how to respect someone else's space!"

"Creative differences?" I ask.

She nods vigorously, taking out the offending CD and rifling through her collection for a replacement. "He's the living embodiment of incompetence! His taste in music sucks, and it's like he plays up to the stereotype of 'mad scientist', y'know? People think he's more capable than I am because his hair's a constant mess and he has no idea how to interact with regular human beings-"

"Abby," I interrupt her, amused.

She halts mid-tirade, one hand still frozen halfway through a gesture. "Yeah?"

"I believe you."

With a sheepish smile, she puts in a CD and turns on her music, adjusting the volume to its usual blare. "Sorry. He just pushes my buttons. The wrong buttons, not the good ones."

A machine bleeps in her outer lab, and she approaches it at a run, grabbing her computer mouse with one hand and the back of her chair with the other as she swings herself into her seat. "Okay. So I haven't found where Trevorah screwed up yet. But it's only a matter of time. I mean, how are you supposed to concentrate with Julie Andrews in the background?"

She sets up a couple more tests to run through her system, then nods and turns to me. "But you didn't come down here to hear me rant. What can I do for you, Ziva?"

There is no point in lying. "I came down to see how you are doing. I saw what happened in interrogation."

Abby gives a wry shrug. "Quite the show, huh?"

"I hope that Gibbs was not too hard on you," I say. From the spring in her step and the twinkle in her eye, I'd say not.

"Nah, Gibbs is a pussy-cat." A split second later, she freezes, eyes wide, staring at me expectantly. "Is he standing behind me?"

"He is on a coffee run."

She breathes a sigh of relief and begins to bounce her makeshift ball off the tiled floor again. "His ESP only works short-range, then."

Sometimes it is better not to ask. "I assumed you would be more shaken up," I say, hoping to get her to begin one of her Gibbs-themed babbles.

"Well, I was – a little. But I was safe with Gibbs around. He wouldn't have let him hurt me." She bounces the ball a little too enthusiastically, and it hits the ceiling, ricocheting off at an odd angle to hit the desk. "Oops..."

Before I can pursue the subject, she grins over at me. "Anyway, I wanna hear about you and Tony."

Disconcerted, I blink at her. Abby is altogether too good at reading people. "I do not follow."

She scoots her chair closer, settling in for a girly gossip. "Last night! You two totally dug each other."

"We were acting," I try to rationalise it. Tony was, at least.

She snorts. "No way. You weren't undercover as a couple. That happened by itself. And you were checking each other out. You should just admit you want each other and get it over with."

Defensively, I shake my head. "Even if you are right – which you are not – Gibbs would never allow it. Rule number twelve, remember?"

Her expression softens noticeably for a split second, before she covers the feeling. It's enough to convince me that there is definitely something going on between she and Gibbs. "He might not be as hard on you as you think."

"Are you speaking from experience, Abby?" I shoot back at her, taking my turn at throwing her off-balance.

"What? No! I mean, yes. I mean, I dated McGee for a while."

If she can throw off all semblance of tact, then so can I. "And now you are considering breaking rule twelve again for Gibbs."

Abby grabs my arm so suddenly that not even my Mossad training tells me it's coming. "Ziva-"

"Tony and McGee have no idea," I reassure her, and she sags, relieved.

"Then how…?"

"I have been watching you for a while. No one seems to notice but me, but there is clearly _something_ between you two."

Abby sits back down, staring at her hands for a second as she ponders the implications. Then she looks up at me with a wicked grin. "He _is_ pretty amazing, though, huh?"

I have to admit she has a point. Gibbs is volatile and definitely not the easiest person to be around, but he is a good man. And very attractive in his own way. "I think you could do a lot worse."

"So now you know my secret," Abby says, and I know exactly what is coming. "How about you and Tony?" I start to shake my head, but she interrupts me. "I won't tell if you won't."

I open my mouth again to refuse her – I simply cannot talk about this. If I am faced with a puzzle then I seek answers, but I do not gossip about _my_ personal life. Before I can utter a syllable, Abby's face lights up, and I know Gibbs has just walked in.

"Ziva, don't you have paperwork to do?"

I do. Which means I have to go back to my desk and sit opposite Tony, trying to forget last night. But there is nothing that I can do about it. "I do. I just came down to see if Abby has found the earring I dropped yesterday. But she has not. So I will get back to work."

"Yeah, you do that," Gibbs tells me, handing Abby a giant Caf-Pow!.

I make good my escape, thanking god that he arrived when he did. As the elevator doors open, I hear Abby's voice float out of the lab after me. "We'll talk later, Ziva…"

I can see that I will have to avoid Abby for the foreseeable future.

* * *

**Gibbs**

"Found the flaw in Trevorah's work yet?" I ask Abby, as Ziva steps into the elevator.

She shakes her head wearily. "Not yet. But I will!"

"Maybe you should stop looking and go home," I say for the fifth time today, already knowing what the outcome will be.

Rolling her eyes, she turns to her computer, cancelling a negative fingerprint match and entering a new series of parameters. "I have detective work to do, Gibbs! My gut tells me something's hinky."

"And mine tells me you have a vendetta against this guy." I know the real reason she's become so focused on the forensics: she's scared. Scared of loopholes, and scared of giving herself time to think about last night. I want to distract her, to kiss her everywhere until she can't remember her own name, let alone Everett's, but we both have too much work to do, work that won't wait.

"Figured out who I was thinking of last night yet?" As if reading my mind, she smiles, sticking her Caf-Pow! straw in her mouth and taking a long, slow sip, watching me all the while.

"I'm following a few leads," I tell her. "So far he's one step ahead, but I'll catch him."

"You better hurry, before he skips town," Abby says, a twinkle in her eye, taking my analogy and running with it.

"You know what they say about some criminals."

Expectantly, she shakes her head, and I continue, "They secretly want to get caught."

Raising a suggestive eyebrow, she takes a step forward. "That so?"

She puts her arms around my neck, and I slide mine around her waist, taking care to keep a little distance from her. I know exactly how much I can take before I'll find it impossible not to act on my feelings for her. Hugs and friendly kisses have been a part of our relationship for years. No danger there.

This is a little more intense, but still manageable. Her smile and her scent intoxicate me, but I'm still in control of myself.

The kisses I've given her today, so brief that I can hardly think past my frustration at forcing myself to step back – that's my limit. If I let my lips linger against hers for any longer, I'm likely to slam her up against the wall and bury myself inside her, without any regard for where we are or who might be watching.

The worst thing is, I know she wants me to. But I'm not going to rush this. Not with Abby.

I kiss her again, pulling away after a fraction of a second. Her arms around my neck stop me from making my escape, and she presses her hips into mine, the contact driving every synapse in my brain wild. I feel my body begin to stir in response, and it takes every ounce of self-control I possess not to start ripping off her clothes.

She trails soft kisses across my jawline as I growl, "Abby…"

The word needs no elaboration. She knows exactly why we can't do this now, and reluctantly she steps back, sighing. "I'll let you know when I find something."

My fingers moving into a familiar sign – _my girl_ – my skin brushing hers for a fraction of a second, I head for the door, stepping inside the elevator car and thumping my hand against the emergency stop button, taking deep breaths to calm myself.

The memory of her lips on my jaw pushes to the front of my mind, and it only makes me want her more. Seconds tick by, stretching into minutes, as I try to forget.

Everett's face surfaces in my mind, his eyes calculating as he opens his mouth at Abby's instruction, and I feel cold certainty fall over me. I'm gonna finish booking this bastard, and then I'm gonna take my girl home and help her forget this nightmare.

* * *

_Phoof!_


	8. Breaking the Rules

**Author's Note**: Yaaaay, the muse is back! Thank you all for being so patient with me. I love you all lots!

* * *

_Phoof! (Greyed-out image of Jenny sitting at her desk, staring thoughtfully into an empty bourbon glass...)_

**

* * *

**

Tony

"Abby?"

Her music's on, but the lab is empty. Wonder if she's with Ducky? I cross to the video link to autopsy and hit the button, and a shot of the Scotsman's shoulder and ear fills the screen.

"Ducky, is Abby with you?"

Ducky scoots his chair sideways to look into the camera. "Tony, my dear boy. You startled me."

"Sorry. Is she with you?"

Ducky shakes his head, seeming concerned. "I had no idea she was even in the building. I told Jethro to make her take the day off."

Setting down the Caf-Pow! I've brought down for Abby on the desk, I begin to explain. "She won't go. She's sent Trevorah packing and now she's insisting on retesting all his forensics. I think she's scared Everett will walk."

"Is there any possibility of that happening?" Ducky asks.

"No. She went in there to take a DNA sample from him, and he-"

"And Gibbs _let _her?" Ducky's tone is incredulous.

I tell him what happened, from Abby's entrance to Everett's outburst and Gibbs' violent reaction, and he frowns. "When you see her, send her down to me. It sounds like she's repressing the memories, hiding behind her work."

"Post-traumatic stress disorder?"

"I doubt it," Ducky says, and I sigh with relief. "If she were suffering from PTSD, she wouldn't be able to walk into a room with her would-be killer. But repression and denial aren't healthy. She needs to come to terms with what happened to her."

"I'll pass on the message. See you later, Ducky."

Leaving the Caf-Pow! on the desk, I turn toward the door. If Abby's not in the bullpen, with Ducky or in her lab, there's only one place left to look: the evidence garage.

As if on cue, she walks through the door, gripping a plastic tub full of evidence bags. "Tony, hey! What're you doing here?"

I help her set down the evidence, and she smiles gratefully. "Just came down to give you a caffeine hit," I say, gesturing to the Caf-Pow! on her desk.

She gives me a quick hug, darting over and taking a sip before returning to the evidence. "Thanks, Tony. So much Caf-Pow! – I feel like it's my birthday or something."

"We're worried about you." Leaning against one of her refrigeration units, I watch her glove up and open a bag. "It's not even been twenty-four hours since you were attacked."

Abby shrugs off the statement with a smile that seems a little forced. "I'm fine, really. You shouldn't worry. I'm a big girl, and I'm coping."

Ducky's right. Denial's really not a good sign. I don't think she even sees that she's over-obsessing. I wanna say something to help her, but my degree was in phys ed, not psychology. I'm a little out of my depth. "Ducky wants to see you, when you have a free minute."

She nods, beginning to slot clean test-tubes into a rack. "Sure, I'll head down there in a couple hours, next time I take a break. It'll give me a chance to grab the autopsy reports from him when I finish the re-testing."

I really hope Ducky'll be able to talk some sense into her.

"Oh – I've been meaning to ask. Are you gonna ask Ziva out?"

Huh? The question comes from completely out of the blue to strike me in the face. "Am I gonna what?"

She sets down the test tubes, distracted from her work for the moment. "I think she'd say yes, if you did."

My brain still struggling to process the abrupt change of subject, I just blink at her. Since last night, I've been forcing back the memory of dancing with Ziva, her eyes staring up into mine as her lips curve into a suggestive smile. Of Ziva's hair, her swaying hips, her perfect ass…

Finally catching Abby's drift, I shake my head. "No way. She'd murder me. Or Gibbs would."

Unconvinced, she crosses her arms across her chest. "Bet I could get you off the hook with Gibbs, as long as you stayed professional at work. And Ziva came down to see me earlier today…"

This is getting interesting. "She said something?"

Abby frowns a little. "It was more what she didn't say. I implied there might be chemistry between you two, and she didn't deny it."

"She didn't?" I don't wanna get my hopes up, but Ziva's intrigued me since she first appeared at my desk. We began at cross-purposes, then became colleagues, then friends. Every now and then she'll say something that makes me think she might be interested in a little more, but every time I respond to it, she shoots me down. After the first few times, I just accepted that was her way, but Abby's pretty intuitive…

"Ask her out! What do you have to lose?"

I can almost feel Gibbs' headslap, and wince. "My job?"

"Rule twelve?" At my nod, Abby rolls her eyes. "I told you. Let me handle Gibbs. I'm his favourite. It comes with certain benefits."

Is it my imagination, or is there a little secretive glint in her eyes? Nah. Couldn't be. Abby and _Gibbs_? Wouldn't happen. Her tastes are pretty diverse, but we've all seen the type of woman Gibbs goes for. Sophisticated, stubborn redheads. Abby's the complete opposite.

Before I can probe her for more information, Abby's desk phone rings. She runs through to her office to answer it. "Lab!" For a few seconds, she listens. "With all due respect, Director, could I maybe come up a little later? I'm in the middle of setting up a batch, and-" She pauses as if interrupted, then sighs. "Yes, ma'am. I'll be there in five minutes."

Carefully, she puts down the phone and turns to me, resigned. "Sorry, Tony. That was Director Shepard. She wants me to brief her on last night, as if my statement wasn't enough."

News travels fast in the Navy Yard. Jenny's probably well aware of Abby's mental state right now. "You shouldn't keep her waiting."

"Think about what I said," she tells me with a grin, and heads for the elevator.

I linger in the lab for a couple minutes before I get back to work, mulling over the new information. I have no idea what I'm gonna do about it.

* * *

**Abby**

The elevator begins to ascend to the fourth floor, bound for the Director's office. I don't really have time for this, but Madame Director made it very clear that the summons wasn't a request.

More than anything, I just want to finish up with the evidence, grab Gibbs and go home. This has been the longest, most rollercoaster twenty-four hours in history. If it weren't for Gibbs, I'd probably be going to pieces right about now.

The elevator slows at the second floor. Expecting one of the secretaries from the records department to be on the other side of the doors, I step back a little.

Gibbs walks into the elevator, and my heart leaps at the sight of him. When he registers that I'm here, he smiles slightly. "Finished with the forensics?"

The doors shut, and the elevator begins to rise again. "Still have a few things to check," I tell him, leaning back against the wall and drinking in the sight of him. "The Director wants to see me."

His brow furrows a little, and he hits the emergency stop button. "Don't let her push you around, Abbs."

"Do I ever let _anyone_ push me around?" I point out to him.

He laughs softly. "You let me push you around all the time."

That so doesn't count. "You're different."

"Yeah?" he asks, taking a step closer to me. My skin's been tingling since he stepped into the elevator, but when I see the teasing glint in his eye I get full-on goosebumps. "Why's that?"

"Because… you kiss me when I do what you want." There's no way he can fail to miss my flirtatious smile.

"Would you do what the Director wants if _she_ kissed you?"

For a second, I consider saying _yes_, just to see what he'd do. But the craving passes – it might steer the conversation in a different direction to where I want it to go. "No."

"Good." Territorially, he leans in and kisses me, his lips lingering for a split-second longer than they have in the past before he pulls back. My entire body screams out for him, reaching out with tiny invisible hands that try to grab him and pull him back to me. I try to ignore the sensation, sighing with frustration. "You really should stop doing that, Gibbs. You're driving me nuts, and now I gotta go into the Director's office and pretend that I'm actually taking in what she's saying…"

"Shh." His hands grip my shoulders, spinning me gently to face the elevator doors as he positions himself behind me. His hand hits the emergency stop button again, just as his lips begin to trail over the sensitive spot where my neck meets my shoulder.

My knees go weak, and I gasp, hitting the emergency stop button again before the elevator can reach its destination. "If you don't stop that right now, I'm gonna be _really_ late for my appointment with the Director," I whisper, and he chuckles. For a few seconds more, he continues with his slow kisses, challenging me. I try to turn, to push my lips against his and keep them there until he can't breathe, but his hands on my shoulders tighten, preventing me from moving.

Finally, he stops, releasing me, and I let out a shaky breath. "If you do that again, you better be prepared for the consequences," I warn him.

He leans past me to start the elevator moving, his close proximity sending a fresh thrill through me. "Oh, I will," he says as the elevator doors open.

* * *

**Jenny**

The knock at my door comes a little later than I've been expecting. "Come in, Abby," I call, and she steps into the office, seeming a little flushed. Closing the door behind her, she takes a seat across the desk from me.

My eyes are immediately drawn to the bruises her makeup can't quite hide, a collar of violence encircling her neck. "How are you feeling?"

Abby shrugs. "I'm fine, Director, really. I was in good hands last night. Nothing catastrophic happened."

I wonder if Gibbs and the rest of his team would agree. "You seem chirpy enough."

She nods vigorously, twisting her hands in her lap. "Seriously, it's no big deal. You read my statement, right?"

I have. I've also watched the footage captured by the mics and cameras they wore last night. "Yes. And I'd be remiss if I didn't tell you what a courageous and selfless act you've performed for us, Abby." I mean it, too. If she didn't have such a talent for forensics, I'd suggest she consider becoming an agent. She has the determination and an aptitude for ad-libbing.

She shifts a little in her chair, seeming uncomfortable at the praise. "Thank you, ma'am. But I don't think I really had a choice."

"_But_…" I come to my point, and she blinks at me. "I would like to know why you're using up a sizeable portion of your monthly budget on unnecessary re-tests."

For a second she looks abashed, and I feel a stirring of guilt for bringing this up when she obviously needs to feel useful. But the fact remains that she's costing the agency valuable resources, and I'd be a terrible director if I allowed her to continue unchecked.

She bounces back quickly. "Unnecessary? Ma'am, have you _met_ Phil Trevorah?! He's-"

"Yes," I cut across her calmly. "Several times. He's a very thorough worker, and NCIS is lucky to have him on secondment."

"With all due respect, Director," she answers, trying to keep a handle on her temper, "do you even _know_ the difference between methylene blue and Ninhydrin?"

Sometimes the best thing a director can do is allow her subordinates to vent. I sit back and let her. She gives several examples of Phil's shortcomings, only one of which seems justified, and I halt her after a few minutes. "Duly noted, Abby. However, my argument still stands. You've spent all day obviously stressed and using up god knows how much of your supply budget, and have you found a single flaw in Phil's work?"

"Not yet," she mumbles, seeming exhausted.

"Abby, I really think you should stop working so hard. Let Gibbs take care of the conviction. It's what he does. And you've done all _you_ can."

Sighing, Abby nods, fingering the empty space where her collar would usually rest. "You're right. I'm sorry, ma'am."

"Don't apologise."

"It's a sign of weakness?" Abby chips in with a smile that seems a little less wan. I return it as I recognise a Gibbs-ism.

"I was going to say, 'I understand your reasons', but if that's what you'd prefer to hear…"

She gets to her feet when I do, taking the cue to leave. "I better go and see Ducky."

Ducky is exactly who she needs right now. "I think that would be a good idea. Give yourself a break, Abby."

With a mock-salute, she leaves the room, shutting the door behind her. Once again, my office falls into silence, and I tap a pen absently against the desk, lost in thought.

I know a woman in love when I see one. As Jethro's so fond of saying, I was a damn good agent. Though when he says it, his emphasis is on the word _was_. Mine is on _damn good_.

Jethro has a certain way of looking at people. When his eyes are on you, you feel as though you're the centre of his universe, because his gaze never wavers. I doubt there's a woman in his life who hasn't fallen for him, at least a little. And Abby's fallen further than most.

As for how Jethro feels…

* * *

"_Yeah. Gibbs." His familiar greeting is a little less gruff than usual. I take a sip of my bourbon before speaking._

"_Where are you?"_

"_Abby's." He doesn't bother with a long, drawn-out explanation. He never has been one for small talk._

"_Is there a reason why Agent DiNozzo is heading up the interrogation on Steven Everett and you're not?"_

_I don't technically have a problem with Tony handling the interrogational side of things. While Gibbs was retired, he did an exemplary job, and the case won't suffer with him in charge._

_What does concern me is Gibbs' sudden lack of interest in the proceedings. Usually he's like a damn bulldog, sinking his teeth into a case and refusing to let go until he's satisfied. It's uncharacteristic of him to skip out in the middle of an investigation._

"_The reason, Direct_or_," Gibbs says, "is that Abby's still unconscious. But you already knew that. Were you gonna ask how she's doing, or did you just call to piss me off?"_

_A little stung – though god knows I should be used to him by now – I sigh. "That would have been my next question, if you'd let me get around to it. How is she?"_

"_Ducky said she should be coming around any time now." His voice is weary, and I can imagine him staring out of the window, coffee in hand, frowning at the light drizzle that's just started to fall. "She's bruised, but as far as he can tell she'll be fine."_

"_That's good to hear." It's hard to imagine Abby as anything but hyperactive and cheerful. I'm glad she got through the operation relatively unscathed, and not just because NCIS wouldn't be nearly as effective without her efforts. "Tell her to take tomorrow off."_

"_Uh-huh. Is DiNozzo handling it?"_

"_He's doing fine. If there are any complications, we'll call."_

_Setting down the phone, I finish my drink in one swig. I've always known most of Gibbs' normal rules don't apply to Abby, but I never considered that rule number twelve was one of them._

_Until now._

* * *

_Phoof!_


	9. Confronting Reality

**Author's Note**: Here I am, back again! Thanks for the support, everyone... I haven't gotten around to replying to the latest reviews yet, but I will! Ducky's turn now... plus some Tiva goodness. Only a couple more chapters to go until I'm done, I think.

* * *

_Phoof! (Greyed-out image of Abby smiling mischievously...)_

**

* * *

**

Ducky

The morgue doors hiss open, and I glance up from the death certificate I'm completing to see Abby hovering in the doorway. "Hey, Ducky."

Behind me, the kettle comes to a boil, and I beckon her closer. "Come in, my dear. You're just in time for tea."

"I never say no to Ducky-tea," she says, pulling out my desk-chair and perching on the edge of it.

I pour the hot water into the teapot, taking in her appearance. There are dark shadows under her eyes, indicating a lack of sleep, and her shoulders are slightly hunched, symptomatic of the stress the last twenty-four hours has placed upon her.

The poor girl should never have come into work today. Perhaps not for the rest of the week.

"Ducky, you're staring," she points out, seeming amused.

I set down the kettle and sit opposite her, waiting for the tea to brew. "I do apologise. I was just –"

"Thinking how stupid I am for ignoring doctor's orders?" she finishes wryly. "I didn't come here to see a doctor or a shrink. I came to visit my friend."

"Of course. And – purely as a friend – how are you feeling?"

"A little tired," she admits, watching me as I begin to pour amber liquid from the teapot. "And a little sore. But I don't feel as bad as everyone seems to think I should."

To say she's been through such a traumatic ordeal, she seems to be holding up remarkably well. I have my suspicions that a certain Special Agent is partially responsible for that, but it's really none of my business. I'm not one to pry.

Of course, not prying tends to project a certain image of trustworthiness that people gravitate toward when they want to talk. So one might say that there's an advantage to fighting back curiosity.

Abby leans over and plucks a folder from my desk. "Are these the autopsy reports?"

It's not hard to miss the mixed fascination and dread in her voice. Under her calm exterior, she's not bearing up as well as she seems. Tony's earlier description of her behaviour comes back to me, and I take the folder gently from her grip. "Yes. But you don't need to see them."

When she looks up at me, her eyes are shining with unshed tears. "First Director Shepard stops me from doing any more re-tests, and now you won't let me see the autopsy reports? I'm not some delicate flower, Ducky!"

Sliding a cup of tea across the desk toward her, I pat her hand reassuringly. "You're made of sterner stuff than most people I've met. But think about this rationally, Abby."

She takes a sip of hot tea, too quickly, and winces as it burns her mouth. "I don't need to think. Thinking's the problem. I need to not think, or I'll go to pieces, but I can't not think when people stop me from doing the things I need to concentrate on!"

Agitatedly, she pulls her knees up to her chest, her voice rising with frustration. "So what am I supposed to do now?"

I squeeze her hand, wishing there was a less painful way to deal with the trauma. "Thinking is exactly what you need to do. If you don't face your fears, they'll begin to eat away at you-"

"That's what I was trying to do!" she explodes, distressed. "I came in and watched him from observation, and he scared me. I went in and took a DNA sample, and he scared me even more! It didn't work, so now the only thing I can do is keep busy and try to forget about it."

Her courage is inspirational, but she's demonising the man rather than dealing with the knowledge of her own mortality. I hate to have to resort to extreme measures, and ones that would be very much frowned upon by every qualified psychologist in the country. But Abby isn't a patient, she's a friend; and I've known her long enough to know this is the best thing I can do for her.

"Abby… If Gibbs hadn't interrupted when he did, you would have died."

"You think I don't know that, Ducky?!" she snaps.

"Intellectually, I have no doubt that you do. But emotionally, you're in denial, my dear." With a mental apology, I take some of the more brutal crime scene photographs from the folder: close-up shots of the victims' necks, bruised and crushed.

She picks them up with a shaking hand, her defensive anger fading as she takes in the extent of the injuries the dead girls suffered. Her free hand brushes over her own bruises, and her face crumples as she tries to fight back a sob.

Wasting no more time on words, I stand and pull her into a tight hug. For a second she resists, trying to push the knowledge out of her mind, but then she gives in, letting the tears flow as she gives in to the horrified memories buried within her psyche.

I let her cry herself out, murmuring reassurances, until she steps back, wiping her eyes and trying to collect herself. I hand her a tissue, and she gives me a wan smile. "Thanks, Ducky."

"You're quite welcome," I say, knowing it's not the tissue she's referring to.

She sits and quietly sips her tea for a couple of minutes, and I allow her the moment of reflection. When she looks up and catches my gaze again, I know she's ready to talk. "How do you feel?"

"Lighter," she says, nodding. "Not great, but a little less crazy. How much do I owe you for the consultation, doc?"

Relieved that the old Abby is beginning to resurface, I fix her with a considering gaze. "A copy of the latest Android Lust CD, if you please."

As was my intention, she giggles. "Piracy in the workplace, Ducky? I'm shocked and appalled!"

Before I can reply, Jethro strides into the morgue, for once without his trademark cup of coffee. Abby spins in the chair to see who's there, and her eyes meet his. Her face is turned from me, so I can't read her expression, but he takes in her mascara-streaked face and red eyes, and his reaction is… most intriguing.

Forgetting I'm there, he lays a hand on her shoulder. "You okay?" His face leaves no doubt that my suspicions were correct. There's a reason Abby's been able to keep functioning today, and that reason is a shift in her relationship with Jethro. I'd be a poor profiler if I didn't see it.

Abby nods, and I interject. "She'll be fine, Jethro. I was just encouraging our Abigail to express her feelings in a healthier way than taking it out on poor Phil's forensic methods."

The depth of the gratitude in his eyes surprises me. I've always known that Abby fascinates him, but this is beyond what I'd expected. "It work?"

I incline my head slightly, but let Abby answer. "I'm fine. Just a little scared he'll walk. I mean, I know I shouldn't be, because you wouldn't let him, but I can't help but-"

"He won't walk," Gibbs tells her. "He's being transferred to a cell right now."

All the remaining nervous tension floods from her limbs. "We got him?"

"The prosecution's airtight. You got nothing to worry about, Abbs."

She jumps up and throws her arms around his neck, squeezing tightly. Gibbs returns the embrace, seeming lost in it for a moment before remembering that I'm in the vicinity.

Still holding her, he looks across at me, and I raise an eyebrow meaningfully. We've known each other for over ten years, and he can read me almost as well as I read him. Knowing instantly that I'm well aware of this new development between he and Abby, he gives a small smile.

"I suggest you take her home, Jethro," I say, and he gives me a mildly reproving look at the double entendre. "The poor girl's exhausted."

Abby draws back, and for a second I see a devilish look pass across her features. But it's gone almost immediately, serenity taking its place. And from the way his fingers tighten on her shoulder, Jethro's noticed it too.

Giving me another quick hug, Abby thanks me again. I shoo her out of the morgue, and Jethro with her, then sit back down at my desk, contemplating the crime scene photographs spread out before me.

Thank god she didn't suffer the same fate as these unfortunate girls.

* * *

**Abby**

We weave through the vehicles in the parking lot to reach Gibbs' car, and I get in immediately, curling into the passenger seat and resting my head against the window. I knew Gibbs wouldn't let Everett walk, but having this whole thing tied up and over with is a huge weight off my mind. Now I just feel drained in a way that even Caf-Pow! won't fix.

Gibbs opens the door on the driver's side and slides behind the wheel, but as he begins to pull the door shut something catches his attention, and he pauses. Frowning, I begin to ask what's wrong, but then distant voices reach my ears, faint, but instantly recognisable. Tony and Ziva, leaving for the day. If they've actually been listening to me today, this should be interesting!

As they draw closer, I can make out their words. "Well, I for one am glad this case is over with."

Tony answers, "Come on, Ziva – didn't you have fun last night?"

Gibbs shakes his head, beginning to reach for the door again, but I put a hand out to stop him from slamming it and alerting them to our presence. "Wait…" He shoots me a suspicious look, but does as I ask.

Through the slightly ajar door, we can still hear their conversation. "I cannot say that visiting Abby's favourite club was a completely dull experience. You?"

"_Oh_, yeah. One of the best ops I've been in on lately, if you don't count the Abby-almost-dying part." The words are enough to make me flinch, but I shove the discomfort away. It's not as if Tony knows I can hear him.

"Many beautiful women, yes?" Ziva teases. She provokes Tony like this a lot, but tonight it seems a little different. She's testing him, and the knowledge makes me grin. Gibbs shoots me a sideways glance, and I realise he knows I've been meddling.

"Don't think this is any of our business, Abbs," he murmurs.

Yeah, right – as if I'm gonna miss this. "It's totally my business!" I whisper back. "I've spent all day setting them up for this!"

Rolling his eyes, he gives up. Hey, at least he can say he _tried_ to be moral.

"Yeah, some of them weren't bad," Tony admits noncommittally. Oh, c'mon, Tony – you can do better than that!

"Get any of their numbers whilst Abby and I were in the restroom?"

Tony shrugs. "Nah. I already have the number of the hottest girl in the room."

Now _that's_ more like it!

"Really?" Ziva says, stepping closer to him. "Does Abby know?"

Tony's laugh sounds a little forced. I kinda feel sorry for him. Ziva can be a little intimidating sometimes. "Does Abby know what?"

She smirks at him. "That you think she is… hot."

For a long, agonising moment, I think he'll back down and turn the conversation to something safe and neutral. But he takes the plunge, surprising me. "Wasn't talking about Abby."

He makes to move past her, heading for his car. She lets him take a couple of steps, staring at the empty spot he vacated, before she gives a tiny nod and spins to grab his arm. Before he can speak, she pushes her lips against his, hard.

I bite back an excited squeal, a little of my fatigue dropping away as I give myself a mental pat on the back.

For a second, Tony's completely unable to believe it's true. When he relaxes into the kiss, his arms encircling her waist and crushing her to him, Gibbs decides he's seen enough.

Not even trying to be quiet, he slams the car door shut and starts the engine. Tony and Ziva fly apart guiltily, staring around them, trying to identify who's there.

Obviously amused by the situation, Gibbs pulls out of the parking space, driving past them. I give a cheerful wave through the passenger window, and their expressions turn to complete horror as they realise who's driving.

"Gibbs," I say reproachfully as he turns the car toward my place, "that was rude. You couldn't have let them finish?"

"And if they hadn't finished until they'd gone all the way, up against my car?" he says, not taking his eyes off the road.

I can't resist shooting him a wicked grin. "Then we'd have had a great view."

He decides not to touch _that_ subject with a ten-foot pole, and I swallow a laugh at the expression on his face. "Did you have to play matchmaker?"

I shrug. "Had to do _something_ productive today. You're not gonna give them that rule twelve crap, are you? Cause in case you hadn't noticed, you don't have a leg to stand on…"

My cell rings, cutting off his response. I check the caller ID, then put the phone on speaker. "Hey, Tony!"

"Abbs, please tell me we're not fired." His voice is thick with apprehension. I feel bad for him: I wouldn't want Gibbs pissed at me, either.

"You're not fired," I tell him, not bothering to check with the boss-man first. Like I told him, he can't penalise Tony and Ziva for doing something that he and I have already done.

"Is there any chance that he didn't see-?" Tony begins hopefully.

"Sorry, Tony..." I feel a little guilty. If I hadn't made Gibbs stop, we would've been away from the Navy Yard before the fun started, and then Tony wouldn't be so worried.

"Then how are we not fired?"

"I told you," I say, grinning across at the driver's seat. "There are benefits to being Gibbs' favourite."

"You won't be my favourite for long if you keep making decisions about _my_ team," he tells me, his voice sterner than his face. Putting on a show for Tony's benefit. I hope.

There's a moment of silence as Tony realises the phone's on speaker. "Hey, Boss. Thanks for letting us… y'know. Keep our jobs."

"Don't make me regret it, DiNozzo." He reaches over and pushes the 'end call' button on my cell, severing the connection.

"Poor Tony and Ziva." I'm thinking out loud, not really expecting a response.

"I'd say they got what they wanted," Gibbs says, making a left at the lights. He doesn't seem too put out by the blatant violation of one of his rules. Maybe it's time he re-wrote the list.

"Now all that's left is for me to get what _I_ want," I tell him mischievously.

* * *

_Phoof!_


	10. Interrogation

**Author's Note**: Okay, this chapter marks an abrupt change of rating, people. We're now in MA territory! Those not wishing to read the smut, you're missing nothing if you skip this chapter. Basically, Abby and Gibbs go home and, um, decide to skip coffee. XD See you in chapter 11.

On the other hand, if you DO decide to read... hope it doesn't disappoint.

_

* * *

_

Phoof! _(Greyed-out shot of Abby sleeping, Gibbs' arm around her...)_

* * *

By the time Gibbs pulls up outside my apartment building, I've woken up a little. Okay, a lot. I've been dreaming of this moment all day, and the closer the car gets to home, the more my imagination kicks into overdrive. I don't know if I'm nervous, excited, both, neither… but whatever I'm feeling, it has my mind and body in serious hyper mode.

Once my apartment door's shut and locked behind me, I turn and look at Gibbs, and the conflicting instincts of anticipation and concern in his face send a new burst of energy through me. I don't know what to do with the feeling, so I head straight through to the kitchen, flicking on my CD player on the way past and lowering the volume so it won't rupture his eardrums. "You want coffee?"

"No."

My hand freezes halfway to the cupboard door, and I turn to find him standing in the kitchen doorway, watching me. "You _don't_ want coffee? _You_?"

He smiles slightly, and I want to die of happiness at his words. "Don't have time for coffee. I still have that investigation to finish. Think I need to interrogate the victim, see if she knows more than she's letting on."

My head buzzing with possibilities, I take a couple of steps toward him. "You wanna investigate?" Standing so close that I can feel the warmth coming off him, I whisper, "Then I guess I'd better cooperate..."

My lips brush against his in a kiss as light and fleeting as the ones he's been tormenting me with all day. As soon as he begins to respond, I back off, enjoying the amused frustration on his face.

But we're not at work, now. There's nothing to hold us back but the games we're playing. And I can't keep playing much longer. From the way he's devouring me with his eyes, he can't, either.

Taking hold of my shoulders, he spins me so my back is to him. I shiver as his fingers glide over my skin, coming to rest on the pounding pulse-point of my carotid artery. "Okay… heart-rate's increased…" He moves lower, deftly unfastening the top button of my shirt, and slips his hand inside my bra, rolling my left nipple between thumb and forefinger. "Subject displaying signs of arousal… or maybe she's just cold."

I've never felt warmer. I close my eyes, feeling a pang of loss as he withdraws his hand. Again, he moves lower, over my abdomen and to the hem of my skirt, as Everett did last night. But this time it's really Gibbs. I'm in no danger, I don't have an audience, and oh my god, I want this so much…

I gasp as he slips a finger up my thigh, pushing aside the thin cloth of my soaked panties to skim a finger over my aching clit, hitting it just right on the first pass. "Gibbs…" I whisper, and bite down on the rest of my train of thought before I lose all sense of dignity and start to beg.

"Subject is definitely aroused," he whispers in my ear, and from the way his body is pressed up against my back, I know I'm not the only one.

"Got conclusive evidence yet?" I turn in his arms, smiling up at him and pushing my hips into his.

"Almost." His eyes bore into me, and I meet his stare without flinching, making sure he knows exactly how many misgivings I'm _not_ having about this.

"What more can you possibly need?"

His lips curve into a smile of feral amusement, and he finally, _finally_ kisses me, hard and possessive and oh my god, his hands are everywhere… I'm completely out of control, my fingers twisted in the back of his shirt as I cling to him. He nudges me backward into the living room, breaking the kiss, and I try to concentrate on walking as I gasp for breath.

He pulls me down onto the couch, and I climb astride him, grinding down against his erection, my mouth claiming his again in a desperate kiss. His hands make short work of my shirt, and I unbutton his with shaking fingers, pushing the garment off his shoulders and letting my fingertips linger on the warm flesh beneath.

He snaps my bra undone and discards it, his lips immediately homing in on one of my taut nipples, his teeth nipping for a brief moment of total ecstasy. With a breathy moan, I thrust my hips against his, teasing us both. In response, he pulls my head down to his again, tongue dominating my mouth as his hands move between our bodies, unfastening his belt, the button at his waistband, his zipper.

With a final grind down against him, I kneel up to let him push the pants down over his hips, crying out as my other nipple gets the same attention as the first. Once the clothing's gone, I lower myself into his lap again; the only thing that's preventing him from entering me now is my thong. I reach a hand down to stroke him, and he groans into my neck as I run a fingertip across his sensitive head.

The sound drives me wild – taking off my skirt and panties is way too much effort. Pushing aside the cloth, I position him at my entrance, relishing the feel of him there, loving the control I have over him right now. Trying to thrust up into me, he growls my name, a warning, a plea, and it's the hottest thing I've ever heard. Anticipating his move, I lean away from his hips, giggling.

"Holding out on me?" he says, fingers slipping down to rub lazy circles into my clit. Gasping, I jolt into the touch, the movement pushing him into me a little way.

He tenses, obviously fighting the urge to grab my hips and pull me completely onto him. I move slightly, letting him in a little further, then almost all the way out again, closing my eyes as the motion sends a thrill through a spot that's been crying out for him all day.

"Look at me, Abbs."

Hazily, I do, drinking in the intensity of his gaze. And slowly, so slowly, I sink down onto him, taking him in inch by inch, pausing for agonizing seconds, testing my self-control, assessing his, until at last he's filling me completely.

I can't hold off any more. I start to move, arching against him, setting the pace. His hands close over my waist, guiding me, lending my movements a rough edge that I don't expect. "_Gibbs…_"

"Like that?"

"Mmm…" Eloquence went out the window about ten minutes ago.

His hands slip down to my thighs, a slow grin crossing his features. "How about this?"

His thumb sets up a slow, hard rhythm against my clit, and my groan of encouragement is lost in the heat of his kiss. I tremble, my fingers digging into his shoulders, as the smouldering need within me intensifies to searing proportions. Breath coming in shallow gasps, I squeeze my eyes shut, willing myself over the edge, taking him fast and hard now.

The orgasm hits me hard, knocking me into mindless rapture. I can't see, I can't hear, I can't speak; all I can do is feel. I fall forward as I ride it out, my forehead pressed against Gibbs' as I struggle to remember how to breathe. Dimly, I register him pulling me hard against him as he thrusts up a final time, fingers digging into my flesh as he finds his own release, breathing hard.

As the aftershocks fade, I open my eyes and register that he's _smiling,_ and my lips curve into an answering grin. "So was the victim cooperative?" I whisper shakily, snuggling into his embrace.

"Very," he answers, his voice low, still rough with desire.

"You get her statement?"

He laughs softly, fingers beginning to trace lazy lines over my back. "Damn. Think I forgot."

Oh, god, I love this man… "That's okay. She's not gonna skip town. You can take her statement later."

"Yeah? How much later?"

"Wouldn't leave it too long, or she might forget some vital detail that the prosecution needs to put your suspect away." Burying my face in his neck, I close my eyes with a happy sigh, savouring his closeness, his skin against mine, the calming thud of his heartbeat. I could stay this way all night, and not just cause I'm really tired.

"She needs to sleep, first," he murmurs against my hair.

How does he always know what I need? "Sounds good…"

Slowly, we get up and head for the bedroom. I crawl under the covers, and he joins me, an arm draped over my waist, his lips brushing the back of my neck. His presence at my back soothes me, and I relax completely, letting my consciousness drift away.

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_Phoof!_


	11. Closure

**Author's Note**: Okay! Finally managed to finish this - it's not a great chapter, but it's the only way I could think of to end it. Hopefully it won't grate on anyone too much. And wow, I can't believe I'm done... I've been planning this fic for probably about nine months now (it really was my baby!). Thank you ALL for all the comments and support. I'm blown away by how helpful and lovely you've been, especially those of you who've pointed out bits that jar.

(Edited again because I forgot my phoofs!)

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_Phoof! (Greyed-out image of Abby stepping out of her apartment, a slight smile on her face...)_

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Gibbs

I sleep better than I thought I would; I guess this case really took it out of me. When a harsh, jarring noise wakes me, it takes a moment for me to claw my way into full consciousness and recognise it as Abby's cellphone.

It takes a couple of seconds more, combined with the feel of her naked skin brushing mine, to register why Abby's cell is on the nightstand next to me. As I allow myself a small smile, she leans over me and grabs the phone.

"Abby Sciuto, officially the happiest woman on the planet," she announces, hitting the speaker button, and I roll over to watch her. She sits back against the headboard, unashamedly naked and making no attempt at modesty.

"You sound like one self-satisfied Abby."

"And you sound like one self-satisfied Tony," she says, laughing. "So did you have a good night with Ziva?"

"Did you have a good night with Gibbs?"

She glances over at me, wide-eyed. "How did you…?"

"Ziva told me."

_How did Ziva know?_ I sign to her.

Grinning, she signs back, _She's observant,_ and asks Tony, "You really think I'm gonna kiss and tell on Gibbs? Do I seem like I have a death wish to you?"

I raise an eyebrow at her, and she signs, _I love you!_ with a cheeky smile. "How about you and Ziva?"

He laughs. "Yeah, I'd kinda like to carry on living myself. Guess gossiping's out of the question." He lowers his voice to a theatrical whisper. "We'll talk later."

"Totally!" Abby whispers back, glancing over at me with amusement shining in her eyes. Good-naturedly, I tug a lock of her hair.

"So I didn't call you out of morbid curiosity. Though I have to admit, there's a lot of curiosity. I mean, why Gibbs? I know he's got that ruggedly commanding air about him, but you couldn't have picked someone a little less… scary?"

I open my mouth to form a sardonic retort, but she covers my mouth with her hand, giggling. "Tony, why did you call?"

"We're all worried about you. Ducky, Ziva, McGee, me… even the Director. You've been a little out of it."

She curls up in the crook of my arm, seeming touched by the concern. "I'm calmer, I promise. I feel better now I know the bad guy's been caught." The reason for Tony's hesitation is obvious, and she sighs. "Trust me. When I see you on Monday, I'll be a new Abby. Or, the old one. You know what I mean."

"Good to know." In the background, his cell picks up Ziva's voice, muffled, and Tony says, "Talk to you later. I'm being summoned."

"_Really_?" Abby asks wickedly. "Have fun!"

She ends the call and turns her full attention to me for the first time since she woke. "Morning."

"You okay?" My eyes travel over the bruise at her throat, now beginning to fade from dark, mottled purple to yellow.

"Better than okay." She kisses her way across my jawline, and I pull her atop me, letting her caresses inflame my skin.

Much later, when she can bear to prise herself away from me to shower and get dressed, I make coffee and begin to think of what the day holds. Everett's hearing won't be for a few more days, but Seaman Serena Matheson's funeral is today. Abby's planning to go, and I'm thinking about joining her.

She leans around the doorframe, dressed only in a bra and panties, her hair hanging loose and damp around her shoulders. "Shower's free. Y'know, if you'd just shared one with me…"

"Then we wouldn't have left the apartment all day," I point out, unable to help myself, crossing the room and sliding my hands over her hips, relishing the feel of her silky skin under my fingers.

"We might not, yet," she whispers, and I tighten my grip, keeping a little distance between us as I kiss her soundly, still a little stunned that she's my girl. She attempts to press closer, sighing with frustration when I deny her. "Tease."

"Later, Abbs…" I move past her, heading for the shower, and turn my mind, with difficulty, away from the bedroom.

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Abby

I get dressed in a happy daze, last night's events running on a loop through my mind. In all the years I've idly fantasised about Gibbs, I never, ever imagined the reality could be this good. I mean, seriously…

I finish applying my makeup and scan my outfit critically in the mirror. Since it's Serena's funeral, I'm a little more formal than usual, old-school Gothic instead of modern rock-chick. Something's missing, though…

My eyes fall upon the barely-masked bruises at my throat. I swear, I went through a year's supply of foundation and concealer, and I can still see them. I know there's a quick-fix solution, but as my eyes fall upon the drawer where I keep my collars I can't help but shudder at the memory of what happened two nights ago.

Picking up one of my thinner, more conservative chokers – now there's an ironic word, huh? – I turn it over in my fingers, wondering if putting it around my neck is gonna make me fall apart.

Gibbs emerges from the bathroom behind me, shirtless and sexy and immediately catching onto my predicament as he glances over at me. For a second I think he'll say something, but my cell rings and I drop the collar onto the dresser, answering the call. "Hello?"

"Is that Abby?" a soft voice asks hesitantly.

"Yeah."

"My name is Diane Matheson. I'm Serena's mother. Your friend Nina gave me your number – I hope you don't mind."

Wow. Of all the people I was expecting, Serena's mom wasn't even on the list. "Mrs Matheson… I'm really sorry about what happened to Serena. I didn't know her that well, but… I liked her." I wish I'd known her better.

"We heard what you did for us, to catch her murderer. My husband and I are so grateful – it was a brave thing to do. Thank you so much."

I don't know what to say. What _can_ you say to a woman who's thanking you for catching her daughter's killer? "No need to thank me. I'm just glad it worked."

"Will you be at the funeral today?" Mrs Matheson wants to know, her voice faltering at the word 'funeral'.

"Yeah. It starts at noon, right?"

"It does. Please, feel free to bring along anyone who helped with the investigation. I think Serena would appreciate it."

I look over at Gibbs, who's listening in. "I'll make sure they all know they're invited. See you at the church." We say our goodbyes, and I hang up, the enormity of what my going undercover achieved finally sinking in. Giving grieving parents closure made all the terror and the injury worth it.

I'm silent for so long, lost in thought, that Gibbs walks over and puts a hand on my shoulder. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Just thinking…" My eyes find his in the mirror's reflection, and then are drawn back to the discoloration around my neck.

I lived. I was the lucky one, because I had Gibbs, Tony, Ziva, McGee, Ducky. And I need to let go of this last fear, if not for myself, out of consideration for Serena's family. I can't go to her funeral with these bruises on show.

I fasten the choker around my neck, obscuring the marks on my throat, and manage a smile. Even through all the psychological associations, I felt naked without a collar. Having one around my neck again doesn't feel as bad as I expected it to. I even feel a little more like myself.

I don't say any of this to Gibbs – I don't have to. He nods, kisses my cheek, and tells me he's going by his place to change into something more suitable for a funeral. I spend the time until he gets back calling McGee, Tony and Ziva, Ducky and the Director, letting them know about the funeral.

And when Gibbs calls my cell to tell me he's outside the apartment block, I head out to meet him, to say goodbye to the dead and then go on living.

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Phoof!

END


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